dead slow deep waters
by HurricaneWoodelf
Summary: Captain Chandler and a young woman who saved his life. Set within / during season 2, slightly AU. T for safety. Own nothing except my OC. NEW CHAPTERS! (completely AU now. New Chapters set about 2 months after End of season 2... my version of it.)
1. Chapter 1

I. Chapter 1

The captain stopped just inside the door and regarded the young woman thoughtfully. He could wait, he actually enjoyed waiting for her to wake. It was quiet here, he could think. Let the doctor's words run circles in his head.

Only a change in her breathing warned that she was rousing finally. She opened her eyes slowly. Her face was turned toward him, so that he could watch the pupils widen and the grey eyes focus on him. For a moment he was spellbound.

Then she gave a minute shake of her head, brought one hand up to her face and murmured: "Great, now I am hallucinating." She moved as if to sit up, but stiffened at once with a breathless, surprised sound of pain.

He was beside her cot with two steps and touched her arm. "Breathe. Don't move, you've got two broken ribs." He remembered well the horrible, air-stealing pain of that injury. "Breathe!"

Slowly she pulled air into her lungs, and relaxed, opening her eyes again. The slender fingers circled his wrist gently and her eyes became round: "You're real!"

He could not help a small wry grin. "Flesh and blood, thanks to you..."

That visibly brought her back to reality, and she blushed lightly. "Captain, forgive me..."

"No, don't try to move. - People that save my life - twice - while endangering their own I usually ask to use my given name in private."

She stared at him. "But... Sir!"

He regarded her calmly. Their hands still encircled each other's wrists - he would not move, not yet.

She bit her lip. "But you don't trust me, sir. Why... I mean..."

He sat down on the edge of the bed slowly. "You do know my name?"

The young woman blushed deeply at that, the pulse at the base of her neck a sudden distraction to him. She nodded.

"There was a reason for my - behaviour - the last days and weeks. I can not apologize for it, but I will explain it to you at some stage. For now let me clarify that you do have my trust and my gratitude."

She stared at him, an expression of undiluted confusion. Shyly she said: "Thank you, Sir." Shook her head minutely at the traitorous tear that ran down her cheek. Gently he tightened his fingers, then pulled his hand out of her grip to wipe the drop of moisture off silken skin. A small jolt went through him.

Her eyes widened, and her voice shook as she continued: "Your words mean a lot to me."

With measured movements she sat up a little, but could not hide a grimace, the blood leaving her face.

He mirrored her movement, sitting back more comfortably. Hiding his own embarrassment.

They looked at each other for a moment, wonder in her eyes, and genuine warmth in his.

"How is the ship? The XO?"

"She`s undamaged. Some ropes frayed, lost two speakers. The XO had a mild concussion, but is already back on station."

"Already? What time...?"

"It's Wednesday evening. You've been out of it for a full day."

"Oh." Her eyes went round again. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

She frowned, looked down at her hand. "I remember the tremor - when the XO banged his head. I stepped outside, the eyrie calm, the wall on the horizon..." She paled. "I recognized the phenomenon -"

He continued gently: "You called out... set the warning in motion..."

"- and then you stepped outside, Sir. I grabbed the rope, I intended..." she grimaced, gripping shaking hands together.

He reached out and tugged her fingers apart. The slender hand was cold. Holding it warm and tight in his, he finished her sentence: "You did push me inside, the door closed on me, and the world came down on us - with you outside. When the ship had settled herself again, my first thought was of you."

"Sir..." the grey eyes were hanging on his lips.

"You gave us a horrible fright. The water would have crushed you and pulled you down. But -" he hesitated, gave a small smile. "You had grabbed that rope. You do have a guardian angel out there. The rope was wrapped around your arm and torso in a way that even when you lost consciousness, it held you tight. Your shoulder is probably sore, but not dislocated. Almost like a marine trained you."

She was working through his words, staring up at him with eyes that seemed very light."My Uncle, Sir, I did..."

He gave her his best sardonic stare, one eyebrow lifted, until she blushed.

"Sir?"

He did not say anything, until she realized what he was waiting for. Her mouth formed an 'O'.

"Thomas." she whispered, a sudden world of emotion in her face and voice.

The Captain had to swallow and look down at their joined hands. He had done this creature such wrong. "That was not so hard, was it?"

For a while the silence held them in thrall, then the girls breathing changed, until finally the words broke out of her: "I'm glad, Sir. Glad I reached you in time, glad the mechanism closed the door. Glad I am here."

That surprised a breathless laugh out of him, which returned the lights into her so serious eyes. "Well, so am I. For all those things - but why did you not try to enter behind me?"

She frowned a little. "I was afraid there was not enough time. And I knew the rope-thing works only if you meet the water head on. If the door did not close fully the whole room would be flooded and the people inside endangered - the senseless XO! The electricity… It was worth the risk. You are the Captain, S-."

"Ah!" he stopped her, brows raised. "Tom."

She blushed again, and continued with childlike doggedness. "You are the Captain, Tom. I - The ship can't lose you."

He considered the young woman for a long moment. There was a distinct sense that she might not have been so callous about her own life if the last weeks had been different - if he had listened to Mike or Jeter earlier. "You do realize there are people here that care about you, if you live or die. Don't put your life on the line for no reason…"

A bitter twinge hushed over her pale face. "I know, my blood is important."

"That is not what I meant. You`ve made friends here, and many who would like to be."

"Sir?"

Again he waited, gentle mockery overlaying his usual stoic demeanour, until she backpedalled.

"Tom."

"Where do you see yourself on the ship?"

"There are those who do try to make me feel welcome, useful, even though I do not belong anywhere. The ship's crew is a family. I am …" she grinned suddenly, a somewhat surprising elfin look in the pale face. "I am… a willing subject and tool?"

Tom Chandler laughed aloud at that. "That's Rachel Scott and chief engineer Garrett speaking."

The young woman nodded. "I've been trying to make myself useful, besides the immunity-issue."

"So I've been told. But do you feel at home?"

The girl looked down at her hand, which still rested in his. While he did not think of her as small, the narrow fingers seemed fragile in his large hands.

"Sir…"

"Tom", he corrected her firmly. "Right now, right here, say what's on your mind."

"Tom," it came out as a whisper, her eyes still downcast. But now she looked up at him with a sudden intensity that robbed him of his breath. "I am beginning to think that I can – feel at home I mean."

He let out a breath he had not been aware of holding in. "I am glad to hear that, -ah." He met her glance right on. "My children tell me your name is Elf."

She chuckled in surprise, the grey eyes glowing suddenly. "Not quite, it is Alviarin, but I told them to call me Alvi." She hesitated. "Please use it, too?"

"I am honoured, Alviarin. What about 'Erin'?"

For a breathless moment their eyes met and held.

"Erin is my middle name", the girl replied quietly.

Tom Chandler could not bring himself to address the elephant in the room, not yet. But this was a good beginning. He said as much, pressing the slender fingers gently.

"I am glad we had this moment, and I thank you for your honesty. Get some more rest, there's a karaoke-evening coming Saturday."

"Oh God, Sir, -"

"Look, I don't like to swear, but…"

The girl, already mortified at the realization he had been present at the occasion, flushed even darker. "Tom, Sir, I can't… I didn't know…" Thoughts were chasing each other clearly visible on the pale face.

The captain smiled warmly: "I did not mean to embarrass you, Alviarin Erin." He liked trying out the feeling of her name.

The grey eyes flew up to his face with sudden vulnerability. The tall man felt unsettled, much to his chagrin.

"You have a beautiful voice. And your song brought many smiles on too serious faces."

"Oh." She swallowed. "Thank you ... Tom."

"There… and on that note, I will leave you. I wish you a quick recovery."

She looked somewhat forlorn when he gently laid her hand on the blanket and stood up. "Thank you. And Sir, – Tom?"

He glanced back at her.

"Gods, this will take some getting used to." She murmured to herself, bringing a slight grin to the Captain's face. She lifted her face. "Thank you, for your words."

Tom Chandler nodded, and left the cabin.


	2. Chapter 2

I. Chapter 2

It had begun during that awful, hopeful day in Baltimore.

Dr Scott turned away from the little girl she had just injected with her last dose of vaccine, leaving the mother to die. Her eyes were stinging, her mind horribly confused with guilt and triumph and sadness and hope.

Nodding to the marines with her she grabbed the empty case and turned. They could return to the ship now.

"Dr Scott?" a deep, a little rough voice called out. The tall woman looked around questioningly.

A stranger stood maybe thirty feet down the road. She was not overly tall, slender, and dressed in functional jeans and shirt, an overlarge dark rangers coat over her shoulders. She carried a backpack, and a long wooden staff. A short knife was visible in a sheath on her belt.

Rachel frowned. "Who are you?" She searched her memory, but nothing helpful came to mind. The young woman – she was maybe five to ten years younger than Rachel herself – had dark hair that was bound at the back of her head, hidden in the coat's hood. Large grey eyes, the most prominent feature of a finely chiselled face, regarded the other woman warily. A narrow, slightly aquiline nose stood above a sensitive mouth. Her skin was lightly tanned. She took a few steps closer.

"You are Dr Rachel Scott?"

Rachel glanced at her two companions. They stood alertly following the interaction.

"That is my name. Who are you?"

"I recognized you from my uncle's list. I am-"

"What list? Who is your uncle?" that was the young marine to her right. He had lowered his weapon.

The young woman lifted her hands slightly. "My uncle is – was Dr Michael Rykers. He gave me…"

Rachel could not help a gasp. "Dr Ryker is dead? Oh god, do you know anything about his colleagues? Where was he last?"

"Ma'am, we should hurry!"

"Yes, I know, but if this girl can give me some answers… please let her speak."

"My uncle lived last in his cabin near River Haven, near Albemarle."

"That sounds like him."

"How do you know she speaks the truth?"

"He would always only specify Albemarle near Charlotte. But I knew him. Go on." Rachel lifted her chin at the girl. "What list?"

"Just before he got sick, he made a list of scientists that I should seek out, and where they were last stationed, or lived last."

"Show me. Why you?"

"He died three weeks ago. I – I found him, found what he had left for me, and was looking for Dr White, who was supposed to work in Washington."

"Bloody hell, that is correct, I know of him too." Rachel Scott was getting anxious. A sudden thought struck her. But the young woman was not finished.

"I heard of Avocet, of this place here, but what I saw – it's horrible what they are doing here. I am not certain, but it seems… Whatever, I need to ask you – you were stationed in the arctic. How are you here?"

That shook the doctor. "How did you know that? Dr Rykers … must have been on the inside."

"But how did you get here?"

The doctor was thinking through the implications. "On the _Nathan James_."

The young woman fixed the grey eyes on the two marines. "A ship?"

"Yes, a ship. Did your uncle give you anything, instructions, samples, anything?"

A bitter grimace transformed the pale face, making her seem very, very young for a moment. "There were samples, yes, and a small computer. But it was lost."

"How?" the older woman asked abruptly.

"I was overtaken by a group of marauders. They were too many for me. They took everything I had."

While Dr Scott wanted to believe the girl, they had learned the hard way that this situation made everybody untrustworthy. "All right. So why did you call out to me? Do you know anything helpful about this epidemic?"

"Actually, I was hoping for your help. I need to get to Hawaii, to find Dr Masters. At least I have to believe he is still there. He had a lab there..."

"But if you lost all samples, everything your uncle prepared, how could you be of use to him? Is he family, too?"

"No, he's not family. But do you think I could gain passage on your ship? Or do you know of any other ship that might travel south?"

Rachel took a hesitant and somewhat unwilling step back. "That would be the captain's decision. The _Nathan James_ is not equipped for passengers. And I do not know she is heading to Hawaii."

"Oh." The girl looked so crestfallen that the doctor felt sorry for her.

"Look, you must have family around here, right?"

"No." she sounded forlorn.

"But you said your uncle died three weeks ago. Where have you – how did you get to Baltimore?"

"I hiked. Uncle Mike was adamant that I could be of use to Dr Masters and that I had to go on. I – he –" there were sudden tears in her eyes. "Well, I am sorry to have bothered you. Thank you for answering my questions, and I wish you the best of luck." She turned, wiping her eyes, and started to walk away.

The thought that had hit Rachel earlier came back, with force, and she called out: "Wait. How did your uncle die?"

The young woman half turned. "The way they all die."

Rachel felt goose bumps rise up her arms. "And how would you be of help to Dr Masters? Why him?"

Her counterpart turned fully, the grey eyes suddenly alert. "He is an immunologist."

"I know that. Are you a scientist, too?"

"No, I studied mathematics before the virus spread. But… I don't get sick."

"What?"

"I am immune."

Rachel made two steps toward the young woman before her two body-guards held her back forcefully.

"Ma'am!"

She glanced at them and squared her shoulders. "Right. Why should I believe you?"

The girl frowned, shook her shoulders. "Why would I lie. I am healthy."

"You could be infected."

"Then I have been infected for the last months." It came out dryly.

The doctor thought furiously. Finally she consulted her two companions quietly. Come to a conclusion, she turned to the young woman again. "Listen, if I promise to ask the captain about Hawaii, at least maybe a radio connection, will you let me test your blood? I cannot promise anything more."

"My blood? What for?" now the dark brows furrowed furiously. 

"We have a vaccine." Rachel could not help the proud tone nor the twitch of her lips.

"Oh! Oh my god!" The young woman was such a picture of baffled relief, surprise and consternation that for the moment the doctor let go all thoughts of mistrust.

"You could use my blood?"

"I am fairly certain I could deduce all kinds of interesting things from your blood. Will you consider my offer?"

"But, do you have a lab?"

"The ship is reasonably well equipped."

"Oh, then…" she paused, eyeing the two marines and the doctor for a long moment. "Yes, I accept."

"Follow us – right now?"

"I have nothing that holds me here."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Rachel Scott finally had a moment to explain her plans to the captain, Chandler was less than excited.

"We have neither the capacity nor the necessary trust to take a civilian without any credibility on board."

"But she could mean a huge breakthrough for me – for the lab! With her blood…"

"Yes, I understand that part. You said you have tested it? She is immune?"

"Yes, captain."

"And having her – live blood - on board would enable you to conduct further experiments?"

Rachel Scott made sure she stayed serious and neutral. "Absolutely."

"What do you know about her more than that she named two physicians you know personally?"

"The thing about Albemarle." Chandler nodded. "I know Rykers comes from a large family, he had like 6 brothers. It's feasible that she's his niece. She has a passport in that name."

"Didn't she say she was robbed and lost everything?"

"Except the two things she wore under her shirt – passport and the list – which in my eyes is believable."

"All right. The list – what's on it?"

"It's a compilation of scientists and physicians, most with their current working position or project. I am on it, far down, and with the arctic project as my current location. He knew more than I did."

"You said he is retired."

"Yes, I did. He was. Sir – if I may…"

Chandler lifted his eyebrow at the doctor. Usually he would have said they were way past that much formality.

"Why don't you ask her yourself, all of those things. She seemed more than relieved at the notion of a possible radio connection to Dr Masters, she was happy to let me test her blood, she answered any important questions I had – warily, as can be understood, but she did answer them. Throw the XO at her and let him interrogate her – gently. I understand perfectly your reticence, and I am sure so will she. Put a guard on her – do whatever makes you feel better about this. But understand also that even though she may not be nor have the lexicon of knowledge I was hoping for, her immunity will ease the virus production."

Captain Chandler wiped his hand over his face and grimaced wryly. "All right. But if anything fishy turns up – she's off the _Nathan James_ at the earliest possibility!"

"Yes! Thank you, Tom! I will make her understand!" she had to hold on to her hands not to start dancing. "I will let you get back to the list of people waiting outside."

The captain nodded tiredly, but with a smile.

Mike Slattery only had a short talk with the young woman before the _Nathan James_ reached Northfolk. She was put in a bunk like the crew, the only exception being that she did not have to share. Her few things – clothes, a few books, some toiletries (which she unashamedly admitted to having stolen from an abandoned shop along route 27) – were easily stowed.

She was a quiet newcomer, keeping mostly to herself. Her guard of two crewmembers were friendly, but distant, and apart from the occasional question they did not interact much.

Northfolk shook the _Nathan James_ up. It took a while to get back to routine, but after a few weeks Rachel Scott looked up the XO.

"Sir, I do not think it is necessary to keep Miss Rykers under such strict surveillance. She's with me in the lab whenever I need her, otherwise let her run free – she expressed a few times that she'd like to make herself useful. She's eating our food anyway… And I know that Stephen and Alanna would like to get back to their usual duties."

Slattery nodded. "Yeah, already talked to the Captain about this. Have her report to the chief engineer. Garnett said she might be able to put her to work. – What's your impression of the girl?"

Rachel suppressed a grin. "Helpful, willing, interested, a little scared, alone. I like her."

"Hmpf. Not making friends fast…"

"And how easy is that on this ship? You're such a tight knit crew! Which is good -" she amended quickly, "- but for a newcomer who has no experience with ship life it can be unnerving." She tilted her head to look up at the XO with a little sneer. "And if she were too friendly, you'd be even more suspicious."

Slattery actually grinned at her.

"Oh – she asked if she might talk to you for a moment, whenever you've got the time."

"Me? Right, send her up!"

It took the stranger only a few minutes to knock on his door. Slattery ushered her in not bothering to hide his curiosity. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

The young woman was dressed in clean civilian clothes. Her hair, much longer than regulations allowed, was braided far down her back. Here in artificial light it seemed dark, but he knew that in the sun it was the colour of dark honey. The grey eyes regarded him with the calm wariness that seemed her usual state of mind.

"Sir, I was hoping to be allowed the use of the training facilities."

That was not quite what he had expected – not that he had expected much. "Of course, you're welcome. Apart from the designated times its first come first serve principle."

"Right, thank you, sir." She hesitated; the oval face had cleared a little.

"Something else?"

A deep breath. "I was wondering… might I come on deck to work with my stave, too?"

The XO frowned lightly. "Why on deck?"

"For the space, sir, and not hindering anybody. And… " something helpless and haunted flickered over her face and was gone again. "… air and sun, sir."

"Oh. You're a woods person."

"Yes, sir. I understand that my guard will be there."

Slattery grimaced. He understood Dr Scott's point of view. It was hard to suspect this slim creature of any foul plans. "Are they outside now?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Get them."

He watched her move to the door and beckon the two marines inside with contained, graceful movements. Alert looks were thrown his way.

The XO stood up straight. "Guys, you are hereby relieved from guard duty of Miss Rykers. Stay a moment longer, if you please. Miss Rykers, you are free to move on the _Nathan James_ , as far as you've been instructed in the first week. Report to Chief Engineer Garnett when you've been given leave by Dr Scott. Otherwise, feel free to use training equipment and free deck space. You might like the hall on deck 4 better, if the weather does not hold. Anything else?"

It was like the sun had come up on the pale face. Surprise and a smile that would not be suppressed shone out of the grey eyes.

"No, sir. Thank you, sir, very much!"

He nodded at her. "Dismissed."

After the young woman had left, he enquired of the two young marines. "Anything to report?"

Both univocally shook their heads. Alanna spoke first: "No, Sir. She's the most normal person on the ship. And considerate of us, too. She knows she's an alien here – sorry, sir, I mean that her position is unclear, and acts accordingly."

Stephen, when shot a look and a raised eyebrow by his XO, added dryly: "Same as last time, Sir. She waits for us, we exchange a few words, she asks things of us. When we are in the cantina for lunch, she listens to what's going on. Not in a suspicious way, openly interested. If I may, Sir, she's been the most boring, most kind and most unsuspicious suspicious person. Got good reflexes, though."

The woman smiled. "Yes, sir, she caught CMC Jeter's cup yesterday. It slipped through his fingers. And it still had most of its coffee in it. Moves very quickly."

"Right. Thank you. Keep an eye on her as far as your routine allows. Dismissed."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Captain Tom Chandler was deep in thought. He walked the narrow walkways up to the deck automatically, without any conscious attention to his surroundings. He knew dimly that he was one of the first awake on the ship, but he had not been able to fall back asleep. It was still dim outside, the sun would come up in an hour.

An ever so slight whirring sound reached his ears once he was outside and startled him from his reverie. What the?

He hurried forward and glanced carefully around the corner. Now he had the full view of the deck, the source of the noise became apparent: A slim figure in dark sweats was twisting and turning, ducking and jumping soundlessly – but with a long wooden stave twirling and changing hands in rapid movement. There was that whirring sound again.

Chandler frowned deeply. Who was crazy enough to practice up here in the cold, and with a dark ribbon over his eyes? – Her eyes, he amended mentally, the long braid swinging freely down her back made this ninja female.

He stood watching for a few moments, strangely fascinated. She must be Rachel Scott's immune girl, nobody else would have hair that long – and while a few of the marines practiced with staffs, he had not seen anyone with the proficiency and speed demonstrated here.

As if feeling the piercing glance on her, the young woman finally hesitated and stopped, staff pointing to the floor. A moment of intense quiet, then she pulled the band from her face and turned slowly, but unerringly in his direction.

The captain stepped forward slowly. Not that he felt stupid lurking in the shadows, a short conversation was in order.

"Good morning."

The girl jumped visibly when she recognized him, blood leaving her face and rushing back in quick order. "Captain Chandler." Her voice was deep, and a little rough. She squared her shoulders self-consciously.

"Miss Rykers, is it? You're up early."

"I'm not yet used to ship-times."

Up close he could see her more clearly. There was a slight tilt to her head, as if she were asking a question. Large eyes dominated a face that seemed pale in the dim morning light, even though the exercise had put some colour in her cheeks.

"How is it going with chief engineer Garret?"

A small smile lightened her features. "Very well, sir, thank you."

"Good."

"Sir, if I may…"

"Go ahead." Did she have military training? That was very formal even taking into account her obvious quandary of facing the captain.

"I have not had the opportunity to say thank you for taking me in."

Chandler shook his head slightly. "Dr Scott assures me you do your part, and the chief engineer speaks well of you. You realize you are in equal if not more danger than had you stayed on land."

She did not answer, just looked at him with alert dark eyes fastened to his face.

"Nobody knows if and what you or the _Nathan James_ will find at the end of this journey, and I repeat again that I cannot promise Hawaii."

"I understand."

"Well then."

After a short pause the young woman bent to pick up her staff, and the captain noticed that she was barefoot.

"Do you need anything – clothes, shoes?"

The deep blush that shot into her cheeks made the increasing light obvious. She shook her head and motioned toward the railing. "Thank you, but no, sir. I'm used to working out bare-foot…"

That last bit came out more naturally. Trying to hold on to the mood Chandler turned toward where she had motioned and slowly walked forward. The young woman joined him at the railing, slipping into the waiting shoes.

"You're quite proficient with that staff. Do you have military training?"

"Not as such, sir. But my – extended - family has a colourful background. I was trained from a young age."

"Dr Scott said you went to university? Where?"

"Calgary."

He tried to put her at ease, leaning over the metal bar. "Really? Beautiful city, and the Rockies so close. What subject?"

She glanced quickly at him, a slightly elfin look. "Beautiful? That's not quite what I thought of Calgary. I have a degree in Math. And yes, I spent some time in the mountains."

"Mathematics?" He was impressed, and let it show - no harm in that. "Then what's a beautiful city to you?"

"Oh, Sir…" she tried to pull back, but he looked at her directly, a challenge in his posture.

"To be honest, I am not a city person. Put me in the Rocky Mountains, I'm more comfortable. But if you'd have me choose one, I'd say a place like Bergen, Norway, or maybe Ravenna, or... Boston. Some place where the history seeps into everything, where there's charm and earthiness, and a change of season."

Now she was meeting his glance openly, self-deprecating laughter in her eyes – they were grey, he noticed. The sun would be up in a few minutes.

"You've been to all those places?"

"Yes. As I said, extended family. What about you, sir?"

Chandler watched her thoughtfully. Then he motioned at the calm water below them. "I've been to many places, but I always return here."

The sun was lurking just behind the end of the horizon, and while they were watching, it rose slowly up until they both had to turn their eyes away.

"Whatever I miss, or believe to miss, this can make up for a lot."

"Doesn't it get lonely?"

Chandler started. He had spoken without thought. The girl had caught him off guard… He decided to only half understand her question.

"The Rockies can get lonely, too. The sea is a harsh master, but if you know her, she's beautiful, too."

She glanced at him, betraying her awareness of the evasive answer. She hang her head a little, embarrassed. The sun played on her hair, which had seemed very dark, but now shone with amber.

After a little while she looked up. "I… I think I'll head down for breakfast, Sir. Chief engineer Garret put me in the machine room today."

"Oh?" That proved quite some trust on Garrets side. He'd talk to her about this waif of a girl.

"She said Lt. Chung would need some more hands – something about the air conditioning."

She stood, the mixture of hesitance and expectancy kind of endearing. He could not help a wry smile as he said: "You are not personnel, you don't have to wait to be dismissed, Miss Rykers."

Blushing lightly, she nodded, smiled, and answered: "I'll figure it out. Have a good day, sir."

He watched her self-contained, graceful movements and only when she had vanished realised that he had not answered her back. Analysing the conversation in his head, he grimaced inwardly. She spoke with almost accent-less English, hardly any of the harsh lilt that usually betrayed Canadians. Quick on the uptake, polite, rather nervous in his presence. No reason to suspect her, but not enough reason to lower his guard. And especially not let his innermost feelings slip out. The deep voice still resonated in his head. Thinking of it, she had been rather good at averting more probing questions.

A few weeks later the captain was about to end the staff meeting. Things were as well as could be expected under the circumstances, the most pressing issue small-scale hardware: a pressure control valve for the water supply system. They would head south along the coast and send a small team to the next city which had a hardware store listed. Chief engineer Garrett and were certain they could fashion what they needed from basic items.

At the last moment Tom Chandler held the chief engineer back. "Garret, stay a moment, if you would. Mike, you too."

The XO and the tall blond woman waited patiently until they were the last in the room. After the door closed on CMC Jeter, the captain carefully formed the question: "I would like to hear your opinions on the civilian – Miss Rykers."

Mike Slattery glanced surprised at his superior and friend: "I called off the guard two weeks ago, as I informed you…"

Chandler gave a minuscule impatient shake of his head. This was not a reprimand.

Slattery understood at once. "She's not doing any harm, sir. In fact, she's slowly becoming more of a part of the ship. Tex has been telling me how much Dr Scott is relying on having the girl on demand – blood samples, tissue, hair; Jesus, she can creep me out sometimes."

Chandler allowed himself a grim smile. "All right, but yourself?"

The XO shrugged. "She's like a quiet, friendly ghost. Seems in awe of the ship and everything it entails, even after the six weeks now. The two guys I put on guard, Stephen and Alanna, they still kind of look out – not for her, but I asked them to keep an eye on her and give me updates. They maintain that she's curious, interested, shy, but always in a friendly, non-intrusive manner."

The captain nodded thoughtfully. He had listened intently, evaluating his old friend's choice of words. He turned to the tall, blond engineer. "Andrea, your opinion?"

"Same, Sir. She's really smart, a masters degree in mathematics and arctic engineering, and-"

"Wait, what? She's got a degree in arctic engineering?"

"Yes, from Anchorage! That came up pretty recently. She and Lt. Chung get along very well, he's quite taken with her abilities. She's a quick study, has a pointed intuition where it comes to mechanics, and she's decent with her hands."

"That's high praise coming from you!" the XO threw in with a sneer.

The chief engineer shrugged expressively. "She does make herself useful. I've had worse students."

Chandler asked dryly: "Chung likes her?"

"Not necessarily in a romantic fashion, Tom, I was not implying anything. She gets his jokes."

"You mean finally a nerd like him on board?" That was the XO at his driest. Andrea snorted.

Chandler could not help a smile. He had been impressed with the young Lieutenant's abilities and strength of character. A nerd like him might be a good thing. He did not look up.

"So you both tell me she does not seem suspect in any way."

That brought a frown and a straightening of the shoulders to both his companions.

Andrea Garret faced him warily. "Sir?"

"Tom? Something you not telling us?"

Chandler took a deep breath. 'Keep looking at the big picture, the masters say.' "Thanks, guys. That's all I wanted to hear."

The XO and Garret exchanged a slight frown. Had they missed something?

"Sir, on this note – Chung asked if he could take her along for the trip to the hardware store. Should I decline?"

"Any particular reason that he mentioned?"

"No, just trying to include her, I think. We are a little short-handed since Northfolk."

That was true. "Sure, take her."

Chandler dismissed them shortly after. For some reason he could not quite put into words his unease about this young woman.

A few days later he was on his usual morning walk just after sunrise, and since there was a clear sky even though the sea was still rough, he climbed up to his favourite lookout, a small balcony just underneath the radio tower. He could look out over the whole front of the _Nathan James_. No one else used the place, maybe word had gotten around that this was his spot.

He did his morning stretches up here, if the weather was nice, as today. Not that it would hold much longer. The dark clouds were threatening.

To him it did not matter if the ship was heaving and the spray reached up to this very place. He tightened his hands on the railing, as always reassured and proprietarily proud of the solid feel of the ship underneath him. As he usually did he took the moment to think of his children, safely entrusted to his father, and his dead wife. It did not hurt so much any more to think of her. He was not sure she would have sent him on like his daughter had – when had the girl grown such an eloquent little adult? – but at least he knew they were taken care of. He needed to finish this, or at least take it further, until he understood what was at play here. And he could not leave Dr Scott to fend for herself. That woman was a dynamo, make no mistake, and she had Tex making moon eyes at her, but there was more at stake. His crew needed him.

Glancing over the decks below him, he noticed a movement.

He was not overly surprised to recognize the dark, slender figure with the long braid and long staff. So she was a morning person.

Right, the group going on the salvage mission was due to leave in a few hours, he suddenly remembered. Maybe he'd talk to the young woman before that.

He slowly made his way down the ladders to the deck. She had been doing stretches, balancing against the heaving deck, but now as the ship dipped into a wave, she stood straight, expecting the spray with an almost challenging set to her shoulders.

She did not hear him until he stood right behind her, equally lightly showered with seawater. "Found your - " – 'sea legs', he had wanted to start the conversation.

But the young woman startled badly: she turned with a half-stifled cry, hands in a defensive position, and lost her footing on the now slippery deck. Chandler reached out calmly and got hold of her forearm, steadying her. She recovered quickly, held on to the railing and pulled her arm out of his hand almost forcefully.

They stood staring at each other for a moment. Chandler found himself frowning slightly. The girl was shivering. "I apologize, I did not mean to startle you."

Her eyes were huge, scared, and very dark. "I… Sir…" She swallowed visibly. "I'm s-sorry, Sir, I did not hear you."

"No, this was my fault." Damn, Rachel Scott had mentioned the young woman had been assaulted. To make matters worse, she was paling, and wavered suddenly.

"Miss Rykers, sit down." He reached out to her.

But she took a steadying step back and gripped the railing with both hands. The knuckles of the long narrow fingers stood out sharply. For a moment she stood with her head bent, then slowly turned back toward him. Colour was rising into the pale cheeks.

"I'm ok."

"Are you sure? I can call Dr Scott!" he almost reached out for his communication device.

A grim smile from the young woman held him back. "Thank you, sir, but she warned me this might happen."

He made the connection at once. "She took more of your blood."

The girl nodded and took a deep breath. "I apologize, sir, this is usually not like me. But we agreed she'd take a full half litre since I'd be going on the salvage mission."

Glancing up at him with a sudden thought she added: "If you don't object, Sir."

The Captain suppressed a harsh answer. "I have to mention that this does not seem like the right moment to mix up your activities."

Fear rose in the grey eyes. "No, Sir, I am fine. It's only that you startled me." A hand reached up to her lips. "Please, sir, I will not let them down."

The thought came unbidden: 'Just like you did not want to let Dr Scott down.'

"If you have no more episodes until the team leaves." He felt a little ridiculous.

"Right, thank you, Sir." She nodded once, warily.

He felt a smile pull at his mouth. "Looking forward to this trip?"

She hesitated a little. "Yes, Sir."

"To get off the ship?"

"That, too, but mostly… oh." She seemed very young at this moment.

"Let me try. Grass and trees?"

She glanced up at him with surprise. "N-no. I mean, yes, of course, but more its – to be a normal person for a change."

That surprised Tom Chandler more than her reaction earlier had. But he nodded understanding.

Turning back to look over the sea, clouds hovering even closer, he felt he could not let the incident end like this. "I am sorry I startled you so badly earlier."

A shiver ran over the slender figure and the young woman grabbed the railing harder. A sidelong glance showed him the pulse at the base of her neck pounding. She swallowed, started to speak, and closed her mouth again.

"Dr Scott mentioned what happened to you on your way to Baltimore."

What seemed a long while later the deep voice answered him: "I thought I was over it, Sir."

He grimaced. "Being assaulted will stay with you for much longer than you think. Don't try to fight it. Turn the helpless feeling into…"

She turned her head to look at him with a shy smile in her eyes. "… into anger and use that anger to get stronger? Oh, Sir, my uncle used to say the same thing."

"Smart uncle. What did he do?" So that was maybe where she had gotten what he still thought of as basic military (or navy?) training.

" _Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge."_ That was Mike Slattery - Morning duty call.

Disappointment flitted through Chandler - and was mirrored quite clearly on the oval face of the young woman opposite him. She got her features under control quickly, looking down at her feet.

"Duty calls. I will see you before you leave."

"Aye, Sir." She acknowledged the slight threat in his words with a small grimace.

Chandler walked away but glanced back before he turned the corner. The young woman stood looking after him with an unreadable expression. Meeting her eyes, the captain called out an arch "Dismissed!". It was worth it, just to see her blush.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The _Nathan James_ had to wait for the salvage-crew. After all drills were done, the place cleaned, the crew given free time, Chandler sat down at the radio station to try and reach his father. Besides him Rachel Scott was checking in with the few physicians and scientists she had contact with. Another place down Lt. XXX was talking to her mother. Her pregnancy was becoming visible. It was weird to think they had a pregnant woman on board, on the other hand, it was somewhat comforting to think there was hope and life where there was chaos and death everywhere else.

He had a small surprise: his children asked after the new girl – they had met Miss Rykers for the short days from Baltimore to Northfolk, and seemed to have grown fond of her. Especially his son was disappointed that he could not talk to her. Things were going reasonably well on their end, his father was optimistic, there were neighbours a few houses down where the children had found friends and the parents and grandfather were discussing home-schooling them. Most of the interest lay in survival skills, of course, but it was no use to let everything slide.

He logged off with mixed feelings. It was good to hear the enthusiastic voices, but as had become his usual quandary, he had to fight through a bout of self-questioning.

The news of the hospital ship **Solace** hit right into that vacuum. There was little question that the _Nathan James_ would change course to look for the swimming lab.

So the return of Lt Chung's group went almost unnoticed. The chief engineer reported with relief that the drinking water supply was safe and they had enough spare parts for a long time. Captain Chandler took a moment to congratulate the young lieutenant on his first solo outing, and then turned his mind fully to the question of the hospital ship.

"How's it going here?" Chief Engineer Garrett had to hunker down to speak to the young woman. Miss Rykers was stretched out on her back between two of the water pumps, a box of tools at her leg. The tall blond engineer could hardly see her hands – the long fingers were oily and as such clearly the reason for the dark marks along the young woman's working pants.

Her voice came slightly muffled: "Good, everything is just as Lt Chung describes it."

The young man with the shock of black hair was lying parallel to the girl under two more pumps, and was describing his every move to the newbie. Seemed to work fine.

"How much longer will it take you, Andy? An estimate?"

"Estimate – two hours to finish these two, then we've got four more. But we will need a break, if possible. Every muscle I have is cramping. Are we in a hurry, Ma'am?"

"No."

Her voice had betrayed her.

The young woman's movement stopped in mid air and she asked shyly: "Any news?"

Garrett hesitated. "Nothing definitive – but shots have been fired, communications are erratic, talk of marauders."

Andy Chung dug deeper. "Do we know who these guys are?"

"No. But what's gotten me worried, and this stays here, is that the two marines at the radar said they swear they saw a shadow."

"What, a sub? I can't believe that."

"Neither do the other guys, but they swear it was there."

Rykers resumed her search for the correct screwdriver and her hand vanished under the pipes again. "Does the captain usually go on all missions?"

Chung chuckled from under his tubing. "This Captain does. Usually either he or the XO stays on the ship, or just the lower officers. He likes to be up front… and he does not like to speak through proxies."

Garrett had to smile at the hero-worship in the young man's voice. She usually agreed with her young assistant, but these days she worried a little for the stoic man at their top.

"Listen, Miss Rykers, if you feel comfortable, once you've finished the pumps, I'd like you to go through the speaker system. I put notes besides a few rooms on the plan where there were complaints about feedback or white noise."

"Sure, Ma'am, I'll be happy to. Where do I find spare parts?" Rykers had slipped a little lower so she could look the chief engineer in the eyes.

"Spare part wallboard, section acoustics, inner ship. Lt Chung can show you."

"Thank you!"

Garrett nodded at the girl and returned to where she was screening the manifold demands for repair.

Chung grumbled from his place under the pipes: "Don't say thank you for yet another job! You're supposed to take it easy, no? – screwing the last large one in place, upper left corner."

There was a pause as they both worked silently, then, simultaneously exchanging screwdriver for wrench, the young woman answered: "I'm glad to keep occupied."

"So you keep saying, but you did not sign up for this, you should not be pushed around like one of us…" instantly he regretted his words. "That was the wrong thing to say."

"Pipe three, the bent one, in place." The deep voice reported. "Lieutenant, look, especially after our trip to the hardware store – if I do nothing, I worry, think, get lost. To keep looking forward, motivated, and willing to stay blood bank, I need to keep busy. This is not my specialty, but I get to learn how a navy ship is built. All reasons to get dirty."

Chung chuckled. "All right. Let's move on to pipe four. Last one. You'll need two wrenches for the last valve." He hated that he could not offer his name and ask hers. This formal Miss Rykers and Lieutenant Chung was stupid when they were working so closely together. But for some reason the Chief engineer had warned him to keep some distance, no matter how quick a learner the young woman was.

"Listen, may I ask a personal question?"

The deep voice came back very dryly: "You may try. I reserve the right to pleading the fifth."

Andy Chung almost laughed out loud. She sure did have humour. "Do you have military training?"

"Oh, that. No, I don't. But…"

"Oh, there's a but?"

He could hear the smile in her answer. "But… some of my father's brothers were both navy and military. I guess I picked up more than I thought. Some of this stuff comes naturally, probably by being here and living with the crew. Lieutenant."

Chung grinned, but thoughtfully. "Wait, Rykers? Not that ccommodore of the – what's her name, the Serenity? Who got his name down in Cuba and South Africa fighting smugglers? But-" he interrupted himself. "No, he's too old, no?"

"He's the eldest of the clan. My dad was the second-to-youngest. Uncle Francis always had the best stories. He did not have any children himself, so he spoiled us whenever he was on leave and came to visit." She sounded wistful.

The Lieutenant almost hit his head in surprise. This slip of a girl with oily fingers and the exponential learning curve was famous Captain Rykers niece?

He cleared his throat and turned his mind back to the last valve. Did Garrett know? Did the Captain? Or Dr Scott for that matter?

"How's that valve coming?" he tried to sound nonchalant.

"Almost done."

They worked in silence until both were finished.

"Time for the covers. You good to continue? We can take a break after."

"Sure, Lieutenant." She slipped out from her working place a few seconds after him and found the dark eyes watching her bemusedly. It broke out of her without censor: "You asked! Don't tell me I am even more of a suspect now!" Almost instantly her face fell. "I apologize for that."

"No, don't. Just took me by surprise. You have no idea how much of an icon that old man is!"

"I am beginning to…" she tried a smile that fell woefully short. "All right, cover?"

Lieutenant Chung handed her the first of the metal plates. But then he held on to it, made her meet his glance. "You're not a suspect, just an alien. Miss Rykers."

That surprised a quickly stifled chuckle out of her. "Thanks, Lieutenant. Screws?" But the mood of the moment was saved.

Chapter 6


	6. Chapter 6

I. Chapter 6

Two days later Alviarin Erin Rykers was standing on a slightly wobbly bar stool – or its naval equivalent – and twisted the bare ends of two electrical cables together. Crimper between her lips, small screwdriver edged between the last two fingers of her left hand, her mind was running free. This was the last speaker she fixed, and nothing to occupy her thoughts.

Yesterday evening the crews had returned from the hospital ship, Captain Chandler in their midst. She had not known how anxious she had been until she saw his tall, calm, silvery head towering above the rest of them. A glowing knot had opened up inside her stomach at the sight. Dr Scott had smiled at her in passing.

She was by far not the only one who had been worried, but probably the one who none thought had a right to know what had happened. There were a few wounded, and a few new faces, but who would stay on the _Nathan James_ or what would happen to the Solstice nobody could – or would – tell her. Her two guards from the first weeks, Stephen and Alanna were back safe and sound, but very reticent with their answers when she had shyly approached them.

While she understood that she was a foreign particle on the _Nathan James_ , it could be frustrating to be constantly reminded of that fact. She had to keep nursing the hope that either the ship would take her to a place where she could make a difference, like Hawaii (she had to keep believing in Hawaii), or she might be allowed to find a place here. At least the two engineers were slowly trusting her – as could be seen in what she was doing right now. She had lost too much since the death of her father, fought too hard against the utter desperation after finding uncle Mike already afflicted and fading fast.

She shook her head against the rising anxiety and dislodged crimper and screwdriver. They clanged to the floor with a resounding bang. Should have kept her head together.

Cables stowed, she slowly bent to climb down and retrieve what she would need, when the door opened with an angry slam and the panic took her.

"What are you still doing here?"

The words reached her through a haze – pain, horror, confusion. She'd landed on her hip and wrist, and the pain that shot through her from the hand cleared her head a little.

Captain Chandler stood in the open door, an angry frown on the usually so calm features. What had she done? "Sir?" it came out rather wobbly. She stood up carefully, trying to calm her pounding heart with a deep breath.

"What are you doing here? 'All hands on deck' at least ten minutes ago! Why are you still here?"

That deep breath was not going to help at all. It would have been better if he had shouted at her. The glaring, cold blue eyes, the whole presence of the angry Captain filling the room disturbed her on so many different levels, she could not form a thought.

She looked away from him forcefully. "I-I've been repairing the speaker, Sir." She hated the roughness in her voice. She hadn't done anything wrong.

"That's the light." His voice dripping dry ice, he motioned up at where the ceiling plate was missing.

Making an effort to steady her voice she explained, pointing to the two other holes in the ceiling's cover: "The fuse had short-circuited, f-fixing the speaker would not have done any good. I h-had to rewire the lighting too."

Chandler was still frowning deeply. "Who gave the order? Who gave you permission to work in here?"

Holy shit, what was going on? The young woman stared at the captain disbelieving. "The Chief Engineer, Sir." At least she did not sound like a scared chicken any more, just like a stupid one. "Captain? May I ask…?"

"Out, and on deck. Crew's meeting." He had calmed somewhat, but the hand that held the door was white-knuckled.

For a moment she stood staring up at the stony features, hoping he would relent. But then he moved aside just enough that she could pass him by.

Alviarin fled, fighting tears the whole way. She mentally sorted through the plan the chief engineer had put out for her. Had she erred? Heat rose up her back. Slowly she came to realise that the room she had been working in was wall-to-wall with one where weapons were kept.

So much for Chung's 'alien'…

She stood at the rear end of the assembly on deck. While earlier she would have given a lot for exactly this information that was being given to them here, now it was impossible to sort through the words.

The next few weeks were uneasy ones, for the whole crew it seemed. But for the engineers' team work never stopped. When Miss Rykers reported for duty as usual after breakfast one day after the other, the tall blond Chief engineer had enquired curiously: "I would have expected Dr Scott to keep you down in the lab, what with all the news and scientists?"

The young woman answered readily: "Quite the opposite. I should stay away from them for the time being. So I'm here as long as you can use me."

Garrett looked at her thoughtfully. The girl had been quieter, and paler than she'd been. "Are you all right?"

A searching glance shot out of the grey eyes, but the answer was indifferent: "Fine, Ma'am."

"All right. Here's the plan for today: pre-cooling system. Specifications are here-" she passed the girl a few pages, "- spare parts are in the wallboard, but in the cooler section, boards for mounting in the next room. I'll come check on you in a few hours, got a meeting upstairs in a bit. Questions?"

Rykers shook her head, glancing over the papers quickly.

"Oh, and-" Garrett touched the young woman's arm. "I know about the incident with the captain down on level 9."

Blood rushed into the delicate face, making her paleness even more obvious.

So she had been right, something had bothered the young woman. "I should have informed him that I was sending you out to do these small things, but it simply slipped my mind after the whole Solace business and the search for the Sub. Too bad that Spanish guy had to die." She was babbling.

"It's not your fault." The deep voice was rough. "He was so angry!"

"He's been wound rather tightly the last weeks, what with one prisoner dead and the other so badly off. Down there is restricted area. As I said, I should have informed him. It was at least partly my fault."

She could watch the young woman work through her words, the expressive features telling her thoughts clearly. The grey eyes lifted and a small, painful smile bloomed.

"Thank you, Ma'am."

Suddenly self-conscious, the older woman dropped her hand. But when Miss Rykers gave a short nod and turned toward the door, Garrett reached out again. "Wait, something else – Lieutenant Chung would be mad if I forgot again."

That brought forth a curious frown and real smile.

"I've heard you hum, now and then, during work. Can you sing?"

"What?" the girl was too surprised for formality.

Garrett laughed. "We – the XO, some of the officers, many of the youngsters – have decided to organize a small get-together in honour of Dr Scott's birthday. So. The plan is a karaoke-evening, but while we've got a few enthusiasts, there's only Scotty and CMC Jeter with reasonable voices. Do you sing?"

Baffled, the young woman took a breath. "I… I do like it, yes and I did sing at the university. But… do you have a sound system? Piano? CD's?"

"Wow, hold your horses. You play the Piano, too?"

Blood flooded the pale face again, but this time the grey eyes were wide. "A little, and not since – for a long time."

The chief engineer sobered. She could guess since when. "All our lives have changed so considerably…" she shook her head. "All the more reason to try and lighten up the mood. I will admit to you that the doctor's birthday is just a pretext. This has been brewing since after Norfolk. Minds will break if we do not find golden moments in this chaos."

The young woman's eyes sparkled. "Those beautiful words have won me over, Chief. I would be honoured to be a part of your choir."

"All right then, back to work. I will get back to you with the details."

This time it was the young woman who held the older one back. "Ma'am – the piano… would it be possible to play it? Sometimes?"

"Oh, of course. Ask CMC Jeter – you know him?"

Rykers nodded, smiled and turned to find the parts listed in the specification she was holding. For the rest of the day, the spring was back in her step.

"So we've got a group of weird fanatics in a british atomic Sub, trying to end us for having the cure?"

"They torpedoed the CDC, all of their stations except two?"

"And we've got no idea where they are."

"We still are the only ones with the cure?"

"And it needs to be delivered worldwide."

"Wonder if that last captive will talk. The dead guy, Juan Carlos, didn't the XO say he's insisting he was drafted against his will?"

"But he was playing dirty!"

"What about the other one? He's hurt badly…"

Tom Chandler exchanged a wry look with his XO. Mike had warned him how this would go.

Chief engineer Garrett had noticed the look. She leaned over and asked very quietly: "Is this why we've kept Miss Rykers under close guard? Why we are holding her at arms distance?" Chandler nodded slowly. "Later, with only the XO present." Garrett understood.

Now Slattery stood up. "Settle down people. I realize those are big news, but we had our path cut out for us before and at least to some of us the direction is still clear."

That, while he expected an outcry, calmed them and turned the conversations inward. The captain had given the crew the choice to leave the _Nathan James_ in Norfolk, but people had returned, and not only because they had nobody left to return to.

Everybody knew that the _Nathan James_ was possibly one of the only ships left, they had the cure, they held a lot of cards they needed desperately to protect and to give out.

The resulting discussion was calm and dry, the captain did not even have to raise his voice. He liked to let Mike take the lead sometimes and watch the talking, his people, including Rachel Scott and Tex. A small smile threatened to expose how much he enjoyed watching those two.

The prisoner had been forthcoming when faced with their deductions, (Rachel had been especially helpful) and now rested under guard until they could either get rid of him to a prison of some kind, or another opportunity arose. It was not certain he would live, anyway.

What he dreaded a little was the still coming talk about that young woman Rykers. He had certainly gone a bit overboard in that locker room. Either way, he had to be watchful, the episode with the prisoner had reminded him forcefully.

"Look, I don't like to suspect her, but I need to have a long, very detailed talk with that young woman."

"Tom, I have a feeling she does not even know the extent of what happened on the Solstice. She's been very quiet during work hours, and once told me Dr Scott had told her to stay away from the lab…"

"She was at the crew meeting, wasn't she?"

Garrett came to the girls defence quickly: "You surprised her downstairs ten minutes into Mike's speech, and I feel confident in saying that the incident with you may have shook her up a bit more than you believe. So maybe she did not listen avidly to the last minutes."

Chandler frowned. "Why was she down there in the first place? I know, you told me, but still, working alone with nobody around, a solid alibi in her pocket, it sounds too convenient."

Slattery shook his head. "I get what you are saying, but nothing came of it –at least not yet. Want her under surveillance again?"

"Not under my watch." Andrea Garrett intercepted. "Its either me next door or Lt Chung with her in the room, or at least three of the others with her. Tom, down with us there is nothing she can do without it getting checked and double checked."

"The fixtures down in the locker room?"

"I did that myself. She did good work. On another note, Andy said she is Captain Rykers niece. Did you know that? Doesn't that speak for her?"

The captain's expression did not change, but he sat up straighter. "Old Francis Rykers? That age gap is too large."

"Not if he was the oldest of seven, and her father among the youngest."

"I have heard that that family birthed several amazing people, and a few rather crazy ones." Slattery grimaced. "So that does not necessarily speak in her favour, if it was true."

Chandler pushed his chair back. "No, I'll have a talk with her, and I want you there, too, Mike. Andrea, if a defensive voice is needed, I'll call on you."

Garrett admitted defeat gracefully. "Will you come to the music thing?"

"That's tonight?"

"Yes. I figured the others were heading there. Tex said as much."

Chandler rubbed his forehead. "I don't really feel like festive spirit incarnated."

But here the XO stepped in. "Tom, just an appearance. It might surprise you."

Already giving in, the captain grumbled: "I've heard Jeter sing. With the exception of Scotty there's not a voice on this ship."

"But- " the sardonic gleam in the first officers eyes spoke volumes, "-it is going to be hilarious!"

So the three officers passed by bridge and com rooms to make sure everybody was on the level, and went to the mess hall. The noise was subdued, everybody knew about the enemy sub by now, but spirits were high. A small stage had been erected at the back of the room, and the electric piano set up. The sound system was small, but served its purpose – several speakers distributed along the length of the room made for a veritable concert hall.

When they entered, everybody was standing and applauding whoever had just finished their song.

XO and Captain found seats unobtrusively just beside the wall in the dark, but the chief engineer moved into the crowd. It took a moment for them to understand the dynamic in here – the discipline held the crew quiet, but they wanted to show appreciation, so they clapped quietly but got up for those they wanted to cheer loudly. Just now it had been Scotty. Well, at least he deserved the ovations.

"Why the piano?" The XO asked of his neighbour. The marine shrugged expressively.

His neighbour leaned forward: "Someone was practicing the last week!"

A sudden hush silenced the room. The slender figure up on the stage wore the same dark slacks as everybody else, but the long curtain of chestnut hair shouted civilian.

Captain Chandler leaned back, suddenly grateful for the shadows.

The XO glanced at his captain, clearly expecting something. But Chandler ignored him and crossed his arms over his chest.

Up on the stage, a few words were spoken, CMC Jeter pressed a few buttons on the stereo, and pushed the microphone into Miss Rykers' hand.

The young woman was clearly nervous; her eyes were expressively darting around while her hands grasped the metal handle. But then the music started and she lowered her head, eyes closing. She'd chosen an old classic, and when she joined her voice to the guitars, a sigh went through the audience. She had a beautifully clear, warm alto that was perfectly suited for the chosen song. She rose effortlessly to the dramatic finish and ended on a note so sweet it brought tears to many eyes around.

The applause would have been deafening.

When she would have left the stage after accepting the ovations with a shy smile, Jeter would not let her, instead motioned the young marine who had sung before her onto the stage with them. A short discussion, nods around, and the older man bent to the buttons again. The three stood in a small circle around the now stationary microphone and under Jeter's direction sang the 'Old Irish blessing' with the female voice twining through the two male voices – Scotty sang a clear, cool tenor; Jeter himself bass-baritone – with such ease and melodic intuition that the silence in the audience was palpable.

This time the applause took some time. The three on the stage shook hands, somewhat taken aback at the reactions. It seemed obvious that there was no following this performance with a funny improv, so Jeter joked into the microphone.

"We had planned to leave it at that, anyway."

A few chuckles rose, surprised out of many still sniffling faces. Scotty leaned in: "I am glad we had the opportunity to join our voices to the incomparable Miss Rykers. We've got two more for you, and then we'll call it a night. No, don't give me those faces. Remember we had only a few weeks to prepare, and the slip of a girl here was only informed a single week ago!" He nodded affirmation with comically overplayed motions.

A voice from the audience called out: "She's taller than you!" Laughter ensued, while Scotty comically seized the young woman up.

He and Jeter did their parade piece – Father and Son, but this time not adding any lines. With the strangely festive mood that had settled on the room they tacitly agreed to keep to the classic version. They were applauded politely, if a little impatiently. Calls for the girl rose, and finally Jeter pulled her back up to the stage. After some back and forth, she stepped up to the microphone. "These guys tell me that this was their parade piece. I have one more piece I am reasonably sure of, but please bear with me, I have not practiced in way too long."

There was shine to her face as she was looking down at the audience, a small smile lurking. Scotty bent to her ear and whispered something that made her blush furiously, earning catcalls and laughter from the hall.

Meanwhile the CMC had plucked cables out of their sockets and pushed them into the back of the piano. Miss Rykers moved to the instrument and sat down, obvious pleasure in her whole being as she touched the keys gently.

Jeter positioned the microphone, and the young woman murmured into it: "Ladies and Gentlemen, Billy Joel." She was already lost to the music again.

Maybe she did not play faultlessly, maybe she missed a few notes, she played with abandon and sang with true dedication, her voice more than up to the melody.

There were a few hums from the audience along with the last refrain, and when she finally lifted her fingers from the keys, there was not a serious face in the room.

Well, maybe except their captain, the XO thought sardonically, and somewhat surprised. Chandlers face was stony, drawn in, and rather pale. Realising he was attracting glances, he summoned a smile and stood up, but after a murmured excuse he left through the back door. Slattery shook his head bemusedly. What was with the captain and this young woman? He could certainly not fault her singing – that had been extraordinary. There were voices all around him complimenting "the pianogirl".

* * *

Captain Chandler stood on deck, leaning over the railing. It was difficult to shake the thrall the three songs had had on him. For a moment he allowed himself to hate the young woman, who so blithely had reached out and touched his heart and mind. "Pianoman" had been Darien's favourite. God, she'd have egged the girl on. She could not hold a tune herself, but loved the old ballads. And the Irish blessing was his own favourite. Ridiculous, really, but to hear them sung with such perfection, such feeling had shaken him to his core. He tried to call up his dead wife's face, but found it was replaced with the picture of the shy, warm smile from grey eyes. Damn it, he would interrogate that girl in the morning, get this over with.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The next morning his first call was to the radar station, but they had noted nothing whatsoever. He had breakfast in his chamber, organizing his thoughts, going over the plans made yesterday at the officers' meeting. And then there was a knock.  
He knew before he opened that it would be the honey-haired troublemaker. Even her knock was unique.

He met the grey eyes levelly, but kept the sarcasm out of his tone. "Good Morning, Miss Rykers."

"Captain. I… Good morning, Sir."

"This can't wait? Usually I get the time until morning call to myself." She blushed, wrung her hands unhappily and almost turned to leave. "Spit it out, then."

"Sir, I heard the guys talking, about this submarine. The name Ramsey came up. I… I know that name, it was on my uncle's list."

"Really." He held on to the doorframe so she would not see the slight shock her words caused.

At this precise moment Rachel Scott appeared from the other corridor, the aforementioned list in her hands, and from her expression he deduced quite clearly that he should now mistrust everything the young woman said. Things had just turned even more serious.

" _Captain to the bridge, Captain to the bridge. This is the XO, Captain to the bridge immediately."_

Now what. Frowning down at the two women at his doorstep, Chandler reached inside for his jacket. "This is not finished, I will talk to you later." He was serious about every word. "Doc, with me."

On the bridge an unreal scenario awaited him. Sawyer Marks, the marine left in charge of the prisoner stood there, a bloody gash to the side of his head. The XO was livid, Chief Engineer Garrett of all people waited, too, something desperate in her face.

"What happened?"

"I let my guard down, sir, he surprised me." Marks wore his feelings on his face.

"Let the man sit down at least." No matter how angry the XO was… Chandler motioned at the doctor to check the man's head.

"I take it the prisoner is secured again?" Otherwise Slattery would have acted differently.

"He's dead, sir."

Oh bloody hell. "Go on."

"He said he was feeling sick and asked me to help him to the toilet – he seemed really bad, sir. But he slugged me over the head and I woke up with Lt. Chung standing over me."

Chandler shifted his glance at Andrea Garrett.

"I went to check on the water pumps, as I usually do. I heard a noise, and found the prisoner bent over the valve for checking the drinking water. He – before I could reach him he pulled something out of his mouth and dropped it into the water. I... I grabbed his collar and slammed him back, tried to reach into the opening, but whatever he dropped, it was gone."

Chandler glanced around at the serious, horrified faces, his mind churning. "And then? He's dead?" he reminded them that the description missed a conclusion.

"I am not sorry to say that he died almost instantly afterwards. I had Lt. Chung check on Marks here, and informed the XO. Cook already knows that drinking water might be compromised."

Chandler had formed a strategy while she had elaborated. "XO, inform the crew that for technical" – he stressed the term, everybody knew that the pumps had been renovated – "reasons the drinking water is not to be touched until further notice. E-jammer goes on as of right now. Dr Scott, please analyse the drinking water at once, then check the body as far as you can. Marks, get that wound cleaned and bound. We'll talk about your slip after the situation is under control. Chief Engineer, please have the body bagged and the area cleaned after Dr Scott takes her samples. XO, my quarters afterwards with the three head officers and CMC Jeter. This conversation stays confidential."

Chandler found himself settling into the eerie calm that was his 'battle face', as Mike called it. This was the worst that could happen. He stood bent over the nautical map of their surroundings when the officers trundled in.

"Do we have an analysis yet?"

"Nothing specific, but Dr Scott is pessimistic. I told her to join us once she knows for sure."

Chandler nodded. "Worst case scenario, we have to get rid of all the water. The pumps can't manage a full refill. Correct me, Garrett?"

"No, Sir, you're right." In Andrea's case he could almost watch how she drew strength from his calm outside.

"Right, the only option I can see is this island." He pointed to a spot on the map. "I have been there before, it's used for drills. It's got a reasonably strong sweet water spring. The _Nathan James_ can park in this bay, get the pipes out and refill the tanks until the pumps can manage. Shouldn't take us too long, and we can give a few of the crew a couple of hours of R &R."

At this moment the Doctor entered after a perfunctory knock.

"Yes, Doctor Scott, what news?"

"I am sorry, Captain, bad news. I can't pin it down precisely, but there is nothing to be done. You were very lucky that nobody drank in the short interval. The prisoner died of the same stuff."

Chandler glanced calmly around at his fellow officers. "Any questions?"

"No, Sir." The answer was almost unanimous.

"Get preparations under way. XO, Doctor Scott, Jeter, stay a moment. The rest are dismissed."

When they were alone he told the first officer what had happened just before he had put through the call. CMC Jeter too had to be brought up to speed.

"I am looking at this from the paranoid point of view. Rykers has been working on the pumps for days. She was at the assembly yesterday. Their way of communication left aside for a moment, if she was in contact with the prisoner and somehow showed him how to hit us the hardest, she did a good job. The fact that she turned up here telling me something that would necessarily come up once Dr Scott or I had a moment to look at that list, screams distraction."

Slattery stared at his captain. Chandler was angry, really angry.

"Captain,…"

Chandler silenced the doctor with a single motion. "If not, if this is a false conjecture, I can ask her forgiveness later. But right now I am not taking any risks. She might be sending our position to the sub for all I know and this water situation is a trap."

Slattery groaned. "How do you want this handled? Put her under surveillance again? Put her in a cell? Interrogate her?"

"No, I want this done quietly. The situation is precarious. We'll reach the island in 24 hours. Keep the e-slammer on for that duration, don't tell anybody. Nothing goes out. Doc, can you make up a believable excuse to send Rykers to the island? Have her find some plants? Collect some chalk or earth samples?"

Rachel Scott hesitated.

"Come on, your face this morning spoke volumes. You believed something was fishy about her."

"Just that this Ramsey is on the list - but not as scientist, as navy captain."

"And?" the Captain insisted.

"There's a question mark and a pyramid with an eye inside besides his name."

Chandler snorted. "Oh, a cult, now?"

"Can't we ask her? About that at least?"

"Can you make up an excuse?"

Rachel Scott wanted very much to call the captain out on this, but she relented. "Yes, I think I can. If she's honest or working a cover she'll jump at the possibility of a hike."

Chandler levelled his gaze at his XO. "Anything I am missing here, Mike? Going overboard?"

"No, Tom, not at all. It makes too much sense."

"CMC Jeter, anything to add?"

"No, Sir, this is a lot to work through. Why do you want her on the island?"

"I want her off the ship for a bit, have her bunk searched with scanners, every spot she worked at. Mike, use our most intuitive guys. Rachel, you watch her while she packs a backpack, don't let her out of your sight until she's in the boat."

"I can have her things checked right now as long as she's down with Lt. Chung." Slattery commented quietly. "It shouldn't take long."

"Please do, but unobtrusively. We don't need the whole ship alarmed."

"Tom," it was rare that the tall dark haired woman used his name, and it pulled his attention away from the XO. "Why not put her in a cell and interrogate her?"

Chandler grimaced. "If she is playing us, she's a master at the craft, and I am rather convinced interrogating will not get an answer fast enough. Even if we found something in her things, which I am not expecting. If she is innocent, no harm done."

Dr Scott nodded thoughtfully.

Slattery though watched his captain closely. Tom was a little more personally invested in this than he'd expect. But he had been suspicious of the young woman from the beginning, or at least kept his guard up.

"I think it's a good strategy, Tom. But don't you want to talk to her about Ramsey on her list? It might seem weird if you did not get back to her…"

"I am not sure just now is the right moment."

Slattery almost jumped at the way those words were growled. That did not sound too promising for the young woman.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

The preparations for the changed destination engaged the whole ship. Mostly it was positive energy charging the marines, the promise of a few hours sand and relaxation made for a good mood. The fact that their water supply was broken worried them, but the unshakeable trust in the captain and his knack for problem solving steadied even the softest of heart.

Dr Scott had made sure the lab was clear of anything compromising and asked the young woman to join her. Explaining why Miss Rykers' presence was necessary on the island, she detailed the samples of earth and stone she wanted found. The young woman demonstrated a profound knowledge of plants, their preferences as to earth and water, and their human-use properties.

The doctor made her empty her backpack and helped her get everything safely inside again, obviously concerned about the glass tubes.

As they left the lab, the doctor accompanying her young charge to the deck, Rykers pulled a folded paper from her pocket. She looked embarrassed, and sounded rather forlorn.

"Look, I told Captain Chandler that there was a 'Ramsey' on my uncle's list. I spent the day trying to remember the circumstances that name came up, or if he ever said anything about him. I wrote down what I remember."

"All right?" Rachel was surprised, but tried not to show it. "What do I do with this?"

"I don't want to be a nuisance, maybe it's a completely different Ramsey. I just thought you might know if this could be of interest to him." The deep voice had softened.

'Him' being the captain. Chandler's words echoed in her head. If the girl was playing false, she was good at it.

"Thank you, I will pass it on." They had reached the deck. "Looking forward to this? I almost envy you."

The view was admittedly nice. The island was the size of one of the smaller Canary Islands: longish, with a ridge of jagged rocks interspersed with dark green pines that formed an almost continuous cover. The highest point was probably around 800 metres. Right in the bay where the _Nathan James_ lay, the small river poured itself into the Atlantic rather idyllically.

The hoses were already pulled out and a number of crew were working frantically to carry them over the water in boats. Others were standing at the railing, waiting for their turn to climb down. Rykers joined the latter, sending a last look at the doctor.

Rachel Scott waved, and with an expressive glance at the watching XO left for her chambers. Now he could take over.

At the last boat the Captain joined the XO on deck.

"Everything according to plan?"

"Yes, sir, operation fresh water is running smoothly and ahead of schedule."

"Very good. Mike, I'll go for a walk."

Slattery turned. "Sir?"

"I need to clear my head, see straight through this mess."

"You mean Miss Rykers. They found nothing, still?"

Chandler shook his head.

"Her, those fanatics, the faster production of the cure. Give me six hours, a short hike should do."

"Sure thing, Captain. Enjoy!"

"Take good care of my ship, XO."

They smiled grimly at one another.


	9. Chapter 9

I. Chapter nine

Alviarin left the sandy bay and the marines behind her without much regret. She longed to get up onto that ridge for a view, and in between the fir trees. Being in the forest always calmed her mind, and hopefully her heart as well this time.

She was not scared that she could lose her way. Dr Scott had handed her a geological map of the place so she could touch all the needed spots for the different earth samples the biologist wanted. Angrily the young woman picked up speed. Was she growing paranoid? The situation today with the doctor had smelled slightly weird, she was sure of it. Even the tall blond chief engineer had looked at her with different eyes. She knew something had happened down at the water pumps, there had been a clean-up crew and they were warned not to touch the drinking water. But when she asked about it, she was told blithely it was being handled and she should not worry. The marine talking to her was one of the unknown faces, and she had left it at that. Lt. Chung, who would probably have let her in on what was happening, had been invisible.

She had worked at the pumps!

And remember how the speaker thing turned out, she reminded herself.

Bloody hell, the look on the Captain's face last morning when she had mentioned Ramsey still gave her a shiver. The tall man was good at hiding his feelings, but his eyes betrayed him. But he had not made true his promise of a talk about that list. What was with these people? If they suspected her that badly, then maybe let her explain – or lock her up for good.

Sudden tears blurred her vision. Had it been a mistake to come onto the ship? Her thoughts flew back toward the first time she had set foot on the _Nathan James_. In the darkness she had not noticed much beside the sheer size of the navy battle cruiser, but its captain's first impression was burnt into her memory. Captain Chandler had stood on one of the decks, his two children and an older civilian close by him, talking to the bulk of a man who turned out to be the XO and the thin, dark skinned CMC. Chandler towered over them all, and for a short moment had glanced her way. But his eyes had only met the doctors for a short moment, a minute nod conveying relief and acknowledgement, and he had turned away. How her heart had hammered, half with relief, half with disappointment that the blue eyes had not fastened on her. His presence was something she had not ever encountered before.

The young woman hit an innocent tree in passing, suppressing an angry growl only partly. What was she – a lovesick teenager? Sure, he was imposing, but also he mistrusted her so deeply…

As she had done a few times since coming aboard she tried to see herself from their view. Her story and that stupid list admittedly did not paint the clearest picture. But Dr Scott knew the few names she had brought up. Without delving deeply into her family history, there was nothing she could add.

Except, since the music evening (and what a hare-brained idea had that been – if not for the lure of the piano she would have stayed away) and her overhearing a group of marines talking about this "crazy" Ramsey and the british sub, her brain had been working overdrive, trying to make sense of the overwhelming tingling of her intuition.

And now she was back where she'd started from – the captain and last morning. Damn it.

She checked her position on the map with the compass, and changed her direction slightly. Since the timeframe was rather short, she had pre-picked her route. The farthest point she wanted to reach was on the ridge that parted the island. There was a crevasse marked on the map where she should be able to find this particular clay the doctor wanted for some cultures.

If that was even true. She snorted impatiently, she'd already decided she'd get behind this weirdness or leave the ship. Let them deal with that. The grim smile felt good, even though she knew she was being childish.

Finally she managed to shake the circular worries and take note of her surroundings. The island was beautiful, in an edgy, somewhat mysterious way. There were no paths, no human traces. Birds were plenty, manifold colours and sizes, as were the plants. Where the pines and firs' cover was not absolute, the floor was covered with greenery of an abundance that reminded her of Canada's deep forests. Rocks broke through the mossy earth, forming overhangs and climbing ridges. Letting her hands touch the plants and trees randomly, she allowed herself to hear her father telling her the names and uses. A person could survive on this island for days, if not weeks. Maybe she should stay here, not return to the ship. It was an idle thought, but it comforted her somewhat. Uncle Mike's last words had sent her on this mission, had given her such hope and purpose. While the _Nathan James_ still seemed the best possible way to reach Hawaii, or someplace equivalent – bloody hell, they were on the same side! Dr Scott could be trusted! And the Captain was an icon of honour and truth.

A thought touched her mind, but was gone the moment she grew aware of it.

All right, the girl thought, she'd have to stop this aimless thinking, or she'd never catch what her intuition was trying to tell her.

Growing up in the wilderness of Alaska and Canada, left to her own devices for days at a time, she had to thank her various uncles for making a social person out of the wolf-child she had been. They had made sure she got education, met other people, but slowly as to not scare her away. Uncle Mike had introduced her to music – classical at first, then the contemporary melodies. He had recognized her hunger for knowledge, her interest in things technical, then logical. He'd steered her toward Mathematics after her father's death, suggesting the university in Calgary.

Again tears blurred her vision, and she stopped for a moment. She had not really taken the time to grieve for this best friend and mentor, willing herself to fulfil what she saw as his last wish, and a way to keep herself sane.

"O bloody hell, keep it together." She murmured aloud. A sip from her water bottle later she glanced at her watch. Almost three hours gone. She looked around with open eyes, checked her position on the map and hurried on. She'd reach the crevasse in an hour, but wanted to make a detour. There was this particular rock-nose she wanted to climb, hoping for a view down to the bay…

Stepping gingerly to the very tip of the outcrop, Alviarin drew a deep, deep breath. Before her lay the bay, the crew tiny, tiny ants scurrying to and fro. The _Nathan James_ was in full view, and she was a sight to see. Proud and silvery she sat there, as if nothing in the world could harm her. The horizon lay calm all around her, sky hazy but blue, the waves gentle inside the bay. All right, there were dark clouds coming from the east, but who cared, right?

The young woman stretched her arms to the sky, the smile on her face widening. Maybe she was being young and paranoid, and wishing for things that were just not in the cards. She'd try and make the most of it.

Looking down at the ship again, it seemed to her as if the ants were moving purposefully toward the beach and the few boats waiting there. The watering had obviously finished. She glanced at the sun and her watch again, but no, the plan gave her two more hours before she had to get down there. Right, time to move. She turned on light feet and ran down toward where she expected the crevasse playfully. The pines were less dense here, the floor springy and dry. And then, coming out onto a clearing, the ravine visible a kilometre down from where she stood, Alviarin stopped short. There were the unmistakable traces of human steps leading through the moss and grass. Who on earth would walk here?

Quickly she reassured herself that it had to be one of the crew. But her heart was pounding loudly as she stood there, uncertain, for a few long minutes. Then she slowly, alertly followed the steps. Closing in on the edge of the gully, the floor changed to rocky ground, and she had to look close for tell-tale signs of the passer-by. Automatically her mind had analysed step length and depth of the imprints, painting a picture of a tall, very fit person with little to no hesitation in finding his path. He – she equally automatically made a 'he' out of this stranger, only Chief Engineer Garrett had a comparable step length; he had climbed the rocks with an ease that even Alviarin herself, being much smaller, could not copy. It did not take her long to reach the brink of the ravine, and she glanced about for the trail.

Already heightened senses alerted her to a few freshly dislodged smaller stones, and her eyes locked onto a brownish smear just at the edge. Within a heartbeat she had bent down and touched her fingers to it – barely dried blood. Her backpack slipped to the ground while she already bent over the edge, crying down in horror: "Hello?" There was no answer. She waited, tried again, and again.

Only by chance did her searching glance pass by a greyish mass that seemed just that bit foreign to the surroundings. Maybe twenty metres down from where she was standing lay a human figure in marine uniform. She could see the path he had taken, tumbling down, and breathed a shallow breath of horror at realising that the ledge he was resting on was so narrow there was not a move the other could make without tumbling further.

She cried out to the figure again, simultaneously reaching for the com at her belt, the other hand opening the backpack.

" _Nathan James,_ SOS, SOS, this is Alviarin Rykers. Coordinates roughly -" she supplied what the map told her, "- one person had an accident, I am going to start a rescue. SOS, coordinates …; please come back!"

Fumbling through the backpack, she waited impatiently for the ship to answer. Thank God she had taken the rope with her. Dr Scott had asked curiously why she would carry a heavy thing for nothing, but she had answered blithely that she did not mind the weight, and liked to have the security. In truth she had planned to shorten her path back by leavening herself down the outcrop. The karabiners she had gotten from one of the crew.

She had scanned her surroundings looking for a suitable rock – or tree, she favoured trees. And she found one, a little too far from the edge for her liking, but better a tree than a rock she did not trust. She jumped over to the pine, put her hand against the rough bark and murmured a greeting while already slinging the rope around it. It was an old ritual left from her days as a wolf-child, bringing calm and reassurance to her racing mind. When she reached the edge again, she realised there had been no answer.

Frantically she grabbed the com and repeated her call. Giving herself a few seconds to wait for an answer, she loosened the broad strap from the backpack. Also she clipped her first aid kit to her belt. With an angry oath she finally left the com-device under a rock and slung the rope around herself. Her hands knew the movements still, she could concentrate on feet and rocky floor.

The progress was way too slow, she had to constantly remind herself that a falling stone could hit the motionless grey-blue body down there. But finally, finally she reached the ledge and glanced around for a foothold. Her head was buzzing, the body lay so still. Finding one, still secured by the rope, she very gently touched the still warm shoulder of the stranger – stranger? – and turned him upward away from the ledge. A small sound of horror was pressed from her lips by the surprise – the bloodied light hair and face were those of Captain Tom Chandler.

* * *

Utter horror, confusion and despair swamped her mind for a moment, her hand on the Captain's shoulder shivered. Then she shook the paralysing fear and carefully checked his vital signs. "Captain Chandler, can you hear me? Please, please, Sir, can you hear me?"

She found that speaking aloud helped her nerves, too, so half consciously she kept up a stream of inane chatter. His heartbeat was fast and slightly irregular, his breathing shallow. At least he was alive. Pushing her jacket under his head, she started to carefully check his body. If she judged the trail of his fall correctly, he had hit his head first and tumbled down unconsciously. His left shoulder was out of socket, the fingers of the left hand badly bruised. But the wound to the side of his head was the worst. Securing him with the loose end of the rope was a thing of a few moments. Then she cleaned the head wound as best as was possible with the solution from her first-aid-kit and covered it, hoping to stop the bleeding quickly. Then she took a moment to think. Running her fingers over his body gently, she dared hope that there was no more significant damage. She could not know if there was damage to his spine.

Even if the _Nathan James_ had heard her SOS, it would take them two hours at least to reach the ravine. She was not certain she could hold him here if he woke up and made the wrong move. She could not risk him tumbling down even further. She could secure him with one end of the rope, but thus forced them both to wait for help. What if her call had not reached the _Nathan James_? She could – no, she admitted to herself harshly. She would not place the Captain's life in the hands of maybe and possibly. Climbing back up alone was out of the question. There was nothing useful left in her backpack. She could not leave the captain lying here.

A small bitter smile pulled at the expressive mouth. She'd known right from the moment her second call to the ship had gone unanswered what she might have to do. Slowly she unfastened her belt and the broad strap, her hands shivering again.

"Father, Wolf, whoever can hear me, please hold your hand above me and this man. Uncle Paul, if your madness was good for anything, then for teaching me survival. Help me now!" The words came out in the language of her childhood. It gave solidity to her plan, and security to her hands.

First she fixed two solid steps for her feet to rest safely. Then she slipped the broad strap around herself and under the unconscious captain as best as she could. Fastening it around his wrists safely was more difficult, but she managed. Finally she carefully pulled his belt from his pants, too, slipping the knife he was carrying into her pocket. Her mind was working with cold clarity now, so realising that his com had probably been lost in the tumble did not faze her. Fastening the two belts together and pushing them in place was easy. Then, with a deep breath of apprehension, she checked her rope, turned around and moved until she stood between the legs of the motionless man. She pushed the straps in place, fixed the belt-ends where she would need them and finally very gently pulled the captain upright against her back by his wrists. She pulled his arms over her head and fixed them in place by pulling the straps she had fastened to his wrists around her waist. The belt that ran under the captain's thighs behind her back she secured as tightly as she could manage around her neck, fashioning a kind of carrying harness. Leaning back carefully she managed to reach her jacket and used that to pull his head gently forward and fasten it against her shoulder. If he should vomit, she hoped she could lean to the side and keep his airway clear.

"All right. Are we certain this will hold?" She tried to lean forward, shifting his weight carefully. "God, your heavy, Captain Chandler." This was going to be hard work. Realising she had a long bit of strap hanging down from her waist she grabbed it. "I think I will use this to secure you further, Sir, if you don't mind." She managed to wrap the band around the captain's waist. "I do hope you don't find it undignified that I am going to carry you up there like a Chipewyan mother carries her bigger child. And I refuse to feel ridiculous for just having said that. They smiled at me when my parents had forgotten I existed, and accepted me as the wolf child that would survive in a place where no white girl had any right to be."

She shook her head while tying the last knot. "And yes, I realise I am still speaking Na-Dené. Sorry, I will change back to English once I've got you off this edge."

She double-checked all the stress-points and got up, shifting his whole, tension-less weight onto her back. "Nothing for it, Sir. Hold on tight. At least your shoulder will possibly pop back into its socket by itself during this."

* * *

The young woman took her time consciously, placing every step, every grip with thought, double checking every length of rope she pulled behind her. The Captain's breath against her cheek did not waver, giving a certain solidity back to her fraying nerves. Soon her muscles were burning, her heart was racing. She rested frequently, catching her breath, whishing fervently she had thought to bring the water bottle down with her. Thoughts about the captain's presence crossed her mind – why was he here? Why had she not noticed his tracks sooner? How long had he lain down there? Where was his water bottle? Down the ravine with his com? At moments of utter despair she imagined the ravine below calling her, reminding her of her despair and anger earlier. She fought those thoughts with anger, holding on to the image of giving them all a piece of her mind. Then again, if she thought there was a catch in her burden's breathing, fear chased her – what if the Captain died? What if all this was for nothing?

By the time she reached the edge, her mind was number than her body. It was sheer will that had kept her going, fingers and knees bleeding, her shoulders burning. The straps had cut deep into her skin, but that worried her less, because they would cut equally deeply into the Captain's skin. Thoughts like that brought her almost blindly over the last rocks, until she touched the tree that had so bravely looked out over them. She allowed herself to roll over onto her side, catching her breath with the Captain's arm and leg beneath her.

When she opened her eyes, she was startled that the sky above her was darkening. Holy shit, what time was it? Her fingers were almost too numb to loosen the belt and the straps. Where was the crew? She realised with a start that she had expected a rescue team to await her up here, to take the still unconscious (how long had it been?) Captain from her hands, to make sure he was taken safely onto the ship where they could take care of him.

Her mind kicked into overdrive. Nobody was here to help her. They did not know. Her call had not gone through.

With a small pang of loss she released the last 'ropes' that tied the Captain to her back, making sure he lay on his side, her jacket under his head. At least the bleeding had stopped, it seemed. She did not waste thoughts on the possibility of inner bleeding; that would have been useless. His shoulder looked more natural – the long pull probably had forced the bone back into the socket.

She crawled back to her backpack, the water bottle, and forced herself to take small sips. God, what was she going to do? How long had he been unconscious?

She dragged herself back to the Captain's side, carrying the backpack with her. After checking that he was still breathing, she sat up with a deep breath and looked around, automatically winding up the rope. The light would only last for another hour or so. She wasted a precious moment to shake her com. What was wrong with the device? She tried turning it on and off, pushing the buttons, but now it reacted as if there was nobody in range. Bloody stupid useless thing!

But the anger was good for something – her mind showed her a view from her innocent scamper through the pines. There had been an overhang just before she had climbed up onto the outcrop. Now it seemed almost inviting. She needed to get the captain somewhere she could keep him warm until help came. Help…

She carefully pushed and pulled at the captain until she could trickle a few sips of water into his mouth. At least nothing came back up, and his breathing did not change. Good sign.

While already stuffing her pack with the straps, belts, the bloody com device and the water bottle, her mind ranged ahead. She'd carry the Captain to that overhang. She had two thermoblankets with her – one in her first aid kit, one in her backpack. There was a small spring she had passed a bit earlier, she'd find that. There had been a couple of edible plants close to the water, and – her heart lifted a bit – the fat green leaves of the Na-Dené's healing plant – smashed into pulp, plastered onto a bloody cut, an abrasion over night, and things looked much better in the morning. Right. Once more she hoisted the Captain onto her back, feeling ridiculous about his trailing legs, and slowly, step by step, made her way up the empty mountainside, into the tree line, and ever more carefully down into the darkening wood until she recognised her surroundings.

Alviarin found herself grinning almost giddily as she lowered Captain Chandler to the floor. Ever careful of his head, she had her jacket under it at once. Then she pulled out the thermoblankets – and lo behold, the one she had grabbed from the _Nathan James_ supply closet was a bag – sleeping bag size. She pulled the Captain's shoes off his feet and slowly worked her way up his body, pulling the thin material up over his feet. There was something hard and square in a zipped pocket on his lower thigh. She pulled that out for later inspection, and managed to wrap the whole large man into the bag. Draping the second blanket over him and pushing it tight around his body for good measure she touched his face carefully.

Fantastic, he was burning up. But - - had there not been a slight movement? She held her breath, sure that had not been wishful thinking.

Captain Chandler groaned quietly, his eyelids fluttering slightly.

"Sir, sir, can you hear me? Please, open your eyes, come on, look at me!"

She grabbed the water bottle again, and tilted it slightly to his mouth. He took a sip, and subsided into stillness again.

Even a gentle nudge could not rouse him. She watched him breathlessly for a moment. Was he breathing more evenly? Didn't he sound more like he was asleep? Well, she'd take what she'd get.

Right, the young woman sat up. Now what? Another thought made her jump to her feet. The _Nathan James_ by now must be highly alarmed. Whatever the captain had been doing here, he, and she herself, should have been back on the ship hours ago. They should have sent out search troops. She had no lamp with her, but there was another way to show them where to look. The tiny kit in her hands, she grabbed what dry sticks she could reach and was up onto the outcrop in a minute.

Absolute, finite despair waited for her there.

The ship was gone. The bay was empty.


	10. Chapter 10

I. Chapter 10

A scream of anguish threatened to break free. The girl turned around and around, arms lifting and falling helplessly. On the far horizon, on the wrong side of the island, she imagined seeing the silhouette of the _Nathan James_. But how much could she trust her eyes at a moment like this? The dark clouds were settling above the island! She sat for a long moment, fighting tears, trying to catch her breath. How was this possible?

Finally she stood up, threw a last glance at the bay, and felt a faintness coming on.

Down there, where the water had calmly displayed its superiority to her wishes before, now the sinking sun's last rays glinted threateningly off the steadily broadening back of a breaching submarine.

And standing there, fighting oblivion by pressing her stiffening fingers against the sharp rock, her mind finally made sense of the snippets of information, memories and what her intuition had been trying to tell her. The list – Uncle Mike, oh God. Now, when everything was lost, now she understood the significance? What a joke.

A drop of moisture fell on her face. Perfect, rain. She grimaced, glanced down at the slender, smug torpedo-form down in the water, and turned her back. Climbing down to the still form of her charge, she noted numbly that at least the rain would cover their trails from almost all eyes. The overhang was safe and would keep them dry. She checked on the Captain, moistened a sleeve of her jacket with the last of her water and used it to wipe his hot forehead. But she could not settle down. Indefinable dread had settled on her. So she grabbed the water bottle and climbed down to the spring. While she waited for it to spill over, she searched the wet near-darkness with her eyes. Collecting a few fat leaves, she frowned. There had been a willow somewhere – right, there it was. She bent the branches so she could reach the innermost ones and cut down a few. Peeling them took long because her fingers were so bruised.

And wait, she had passed two dead birch trees, their narrow trunks dry. If she managed to drag one toward the overhang, it would shelter them from eyes. Could she do that without disturbing the floor too much? If she would try it, it had to be now, before the real downpour started.

Every bone in her body hurt by the time she was satisfied with her work.

Carefully she crept into the overhang, and put a hand to the Captain's cheek. "Sir?" she whispered. He had not moved from how she had left him, but now she felt movement under her palm. A slight mumble she could not make out lifted her heart to the heavens. She tilted the water bottle against his lips again, listening avidly to the sound of him swallowing. Nothing else happened, no word, no movement, but she was happy for the moment. "We will sort this out, Sir, I promise you. I brought a compress for the head wound. I am sorry I cannot do more. But your shoulder seems better." She used the leftovers from the leaf-pulp to wrap his left hand in gauze.

Feeling the exhaustion settle on her, she slipped under the second thermoblanket, nestled against the Captain's back, and rested her head on the backpack. The rain was a calming presence. Almost at once she felt herself slip toward sleep. On the edge of consciousness, the hard rectangle from the captain's pocket appeared before her eyes. Nestling that out of the backpack seemed almost too much for her bruised fingers. But she managed it. It was a small pager, with a one-line LCD display. There seemed to be some figures visible, slightly darker than the background, but Alviarin finally gave in to the pull of body and mind and fell into nothingness.

She woke twice during the rest of the night, intuition or some deep knowledge dredged up from her memories making her shake the captain gently until she elicited a sound, or slight movement. To her indescribable relief, his legs twitched once or twice. Ensuring herself he was warm, the fever not worse, she made him drink a sip or two and fell back into a deep slumber.

She woke at first light. The rain had subsided. She was cold, even though she could feel the Captain's warmth against her back. Slowly she sat up and turned around – he had curled up during the night, another proof that there were no significant injuries. His forehead though was still hot.

She took a sip of water. The willow bark had made it bitter, but she did not mind. Gently she nudged the tall man until she could make him swallow a few sips. He grimaced slightly, but did not wake fully.

Alviarin stood, stretching carefully. Her sore muscles protested badly, but the motion made her brain kick into working mode. Heartbeat picking up speed, she considered her next move. Slipping out of her shoes, she silently raced up to the outcrop. The submarine sat where she had last seen it, the hatchway open, a few ants could already be made out. Damn, what did they want here? Oh God, she'd forgotten all about the pager. She hurried over to the spring, pushed her pounding hands under the cold water and splashed her face. Wake up, Alviarin, there's work to do. Her hands were a sight, fingers swollen and blue. Her pants were ripped, her knees and shins looking even worse with blood crusted all over. There was a pretty horrid gash over her right shin, cutting deep into the muscle of her calf. How could she have fallen asleep like that? Now everything pulsed and stung with pain.

She picked more of the fat leaves, grabbed a handful of watercress and chewed thankfully on the sharp, tangy stalks. There must be some emergency rations in her pack, but that she would need to keep the Captain's strength up until he was well enough to eat watercress. She grimaced at herself. Slowly she walked back to what she thought of as their cave, consciously checking her surroundings. If the submarine's occupants came up here, what would they see? The birch tree from last night covered the overhang well enough, if she added a few branches from the inside they should be safe from cursory looks.

After fortifying the poor birch tree, she knelt down beside her charge. The Captain had turned onto his back and slung an arm over his eyes. Somewhat scared to touch him now he was coming awake, she reached for the pager.

'Code 128, 22-03' and some coordinates. Fantastic, she did not know the navy codes. If the Captain was lucid, he'd know.

"Sir," she whispered. "Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

He groaned, and when she touched him gently, he moved his arm. She found his colour had improved over the night, even though his forehead was still hot. His eyes twitched, but he grimaced in pain. "Hurts."

Alviarin allowed herself a silent jubilant sigh. He was lucid. "Don't open them, then, Sir." She wet the sleeve of her jacket again, and gently put it over his eyes. "Better?"

The tall man grunted affirmatively. "Water?" His voice was barely a croak.

"Here." She tipped the bottle to his lips again. "Slowly, take your time." Gods, she felt like singing.

His mouth turned downwards. "Bitter."

"Yes, Captain, there's willow bark in the water, should help with the fever and with the pain." Then she took a breath. "Sir, this is important. Can you tell me what Code 128 22 bar 03 means?"

"Emergency. Left behind. Enemy." His voice was growing weaker.

"Please, Sir, try to…"

He murmured something that sounded like ' _Nathan James_ ', and was gone again. Biting her lip in desperation, she began to change the dressing on his head. The wound was ugly, the swelling considerable, but it smelled clean. She plastered fresh leaf-pulp on it and covered it with the bandage again. Then she repeated the same for his fingers. They too were swollen; the little one might be broken. She tried to stabilize them as best as she could with the bandage. Then finally she took care of the cut on her lower leg. It would not do to ignore it any longer, if it got infected they'd both lie here feverishly.

She sat for a long moment, thinking. The captain's words were repeating round and round in her head. So there was a protocol for this kind of being 'left behind'. What was she thinking; they had a protocol for every single mishap. She studied the map, poring over it until she felt like she could recall every single contour line. The coordinates supplied by the pager were on the south side of the island, opposite to the bay.

But the _Nathan James_ could never ever come back to the island with the submarine lying here. Slowly understanding dawned. The navy ship had sensed the submarine coming, had hurried away, unwilling to engage in a fight. The captain would understand the code, would know how to act. There would be a time or date in those numbers…

"Sir, I will be back in a few minutes. Have to check on the enemy."

There was no answer, but it helped steady her nerves if she kept talking to him.

Up on the outcrop she realised with a helpless grin that the Submarine had come to the island for the same reason the _Nathan James_ had – for drinking water. Or at least they were using the opportunity. What worried her was the fact that some of the ants were facing the forest as if waiting. What if they did come up here? She had no weapons apart from the two knives.

She walked to the site of the rescue operation, checking for trails, relieved to find nothing. She stood for a moment looking down the ravine, nameless fear grabbing her as she tried to imagine tumbling down with the Captain on her back. Had she been crazy to do what she'd done? But she pulled herself together and let her gaze wander over the countryside. Comparing her mental map with what she could see, she tried to find the spot the coordinates signified. The path down there did not scare her – alone. Carrying the concussed Captain would be a challenge.

Hurrying back again she refilled the water bottle, grabbed some more cress and the fat leaves, and returned to the overhang. Not much for it but to wait and hope until he woke up once more.

She found her charge moving restlessly, groaning softly.

At once she knelt down by his side and grabbed the unhurt hand gently. "Sir, I'm here." Chandler quieted almost at once. She offered the bottle and he drank. "Can you talk to me? How are you feeling?"

"Head hurts."

"I'd imagine. You had a bad fall, Sir. Can you feel your feet? Are your toes warm?" She did not want to alarm him.

"Warm. Shoulder." She could see his toes wriggling lazily.

"Your shoulder was dislocated, but it seems that the swelling is going down now. Can you move your arm?"

He lifted the left arm with a gasp. "Hurts."

"Shh, yes, it hurts, but believe me, you are moving it normally." Another stone off her chest.

"Who… where…"

Oh dear Lord. "I'm Rykers, Sir, the girl Dr Scott took on board in Baltimore. We are on the island the _Nathan James_ -" here he made a violent move, startling her badly.

" _Nathan James_! My ship!"

"Shh, sir, please! She's fine! Calm down, please!" He fell back with a pained grimace on his face. She bent over him, using the short moment his eyes were open to check his pupils. Another stone off her chest – they were reacting to the light and same-sized. Thank God. "You'll be ok, Sir. We'll get back to the ship as soon as you're better." God she hoped she was not lying to him.

He moved his head away from the light, and she gently put the moist sleeve back over his eyes.

"Baltimore – my children, Darien." He groaned again, fighting against memories.

"Your children are fine, sir. You left them in Norfolk with your father. They're fine!" His wife was dead, but she did not mention that. She put her hand on his cheek to keep him from dislodging the bandage. He reacted to her touch, calming down a little.

"Cool hands." And after a while: "Keep talking?"

First she managed to feed him a little of the carbolyte drink she had found in her things. Then she began quietly to talk.

The moment she grew aware of the slight noise she had forgotten what she had been telling the Captain. She stilled completely, her hand grabbing his arm in warning.

Sound was being carried to her ears, voices, dangerously close by. Chandler, who must have picked up on her alarm, moved. "What is it?"

"Sir, please, be really really quiet. There are people out there."

He started to argue. "Help? Must call out?"

"No, sir, they are the enemy. Have to be silent, wait." She bent down to whisper into his ear.

That had been the wrong thing to say. His brows furrowed, he tried to turn, even made a move to sit up. "Russians? Have to… get to… my ship!"

"Shh, sir, please, trust me, we'll be fine, just have to be quiet for a little while." She pushed him down gently, if desperately. If ever there was a moment she would welcome him falling asleep, it was now!

The movement had obviously pained him, he was panting, grimacing, and had gripped her arm hard. "Have to – do something…"

Frantic now, the young woman put both shaking hands to the sides of his face, willing him to understand. "Sir, there is nothing we can do, just stay silent and let them pass."

Now she could almost make out the words the two voices were exchanging.

His good right hand covered hers almost gently, but when he opened his mouth again to argue, she gently put her hand over his lips. He must have felt her shaking, or else understood how imperative the silence was, or been too surprised.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" She whispered soundlessly, her lips almost touching his forehead.

But it worked, he stayed silent, only pulled her hand down against his cheek again. His breath came hard.

She listened avidly, catching a phrase here and there, a name?, recognized with a start the accent of one of the men, and felt that they would for sure hear her heart hammering from where they passed by some hundred metres above her hiding place.

But it was a leisurely talk, they were not searching for anything, she thought to herself. After a long while she whispered as much into the Captains ear.

"Who?"

"One of them is german for sure, the other probably American, from the south. They mentioned Washington."

When Chandler frowned, as if confused, the young woman realised that the Captain's memory was still muddled. Maybe it was for the better, if he knew that the british Submarine lay down in the bay, he'd endanger them both.

"Captain Chandler, it does not matter. Rest, I am taking care of you until we can walk out of here."

She offered him more water, and re-moistened the sleeve over his eyes.

"Voice like honey, water like poison." A ghost of a grim smile pulled at his features.

Alviarin felt herself blush furiously. He liked her voice? He was making jokes?

"You seem comfortable?" She felt ridiculous, but anything to cover her embarrassment.

"Sleep…" he murmured, already dozing off. He reached out weakly and she caught the strong fingers in her bruised ones. Anything to give him comfort.

Not daring to leave the cave, she sat watching the handsome features relax into sleep, and remembered that she had missed the opportunity to ask him after the code.

To her surprise the watch told her it was late morning, two hours to midday. How long would the Sub stay? How long should she give the two strangers to leave the mountainside?

Finally the short night caught up to her and she gave in to the dreadful weariness weighing her down. She stretched out along the Captain, pulled an edge of the thermoblanket over herself, and promptly fell asleep.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Alviarin woke to a large hand slowly moving up her arm until it touched her face warmly. She would have started, eyes flying open, if not for the gentle warning pressure. His face was turned toward her, eyes still covered. She gave a minute nod to let him know she was awake, and at the same moment heard the voices.

They were closer this time, the same ones as before, and she could make out words.

"…the way we used before? …different…"

"No, see…. Your ugly boot print… climb up. "

Laughter ensued.

She hardly dared to breath. Contrarily, the Captain's breath came calmly, his fingers moved over her face in a gentle, reassuring and slightly inquisitive manner.

For a heartbeat she closed her eyes and gave herself to the moment. His palm was rough, but the strong fingers were gentle. If she were to die right now, she'd take this moment with her.

"… will have to keep… fresh air…"

The voices were moving away. She could hear their steps growing more and more silent, and finally allowed herself a breath. To her surprise she began shaking like a frightened rabbit. She pulled her arms around herself, willing her body to stop, trying to force calming air into her lungs.

Chandler gently reached around her and stroke her back, the movement a little clumsy.

"Shh, they are gone."

It took her a while to calm down enough to push away, leaning on one arm. "Sir? Feeling better?" He had turned onto his left side! "Your shoulder!"

"Everything hurts, but my head is clearer."

Tears sprung into her eyes. "You sound more like yourself, Sir." she whispered.

"Is there more water?"

Quickly she reached up and offered him the bottle. He drank deeply, grimacing only slightly at the taste.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes, but first I have questions." He carefully let himself sink onto his back again.

Her heart sank.

"Where are we? Where is the _Nathan James_? Who are you?" – "A small island in the Atlantic. She had to leave. There is a code on your pager that I can not decipher, Sir." She left out the last question on purpose. He did not notice at once. "What code?"

She repeated the numbers to him.

Chandler frowned deeply. "We've been left behind on a nameless island? Why? Who were the voices outside? Why could we not call out to them for help? Ah -" he tried to stifle a groan. "My head is killing me."

Alviarin sat up purposefully and took his hand. "Sir, I don't think it is wise for you to move too much nor work yourself into a frenzy over these questions. I cannot answer all of them, and would probably annoy you even more. If you can solve this stupid code, I will do my best to get you back onto the _Nathan James_. Begging your pardon, Sir."

That gave him thought for a moment, then a grim smile lightened the drawn face. "All right, but give me a name."

"Call me Erin, Sir." She could not quite put a finger on why she gave him her middle name.

"Erin, huh? You don't sound irish." He reached up and tried to lift the moist piece of cotton from his eyes. But opening them caused his breathing to stop for a moment.

It hurt to see him in such pain. "Sir, give yourself time, please. You had a nasty fall only twenty-four hours ago." She trickled a bit more water on the sleeve. "The code, Sir?" she reminded him gently. "I've figured out the coordinates, but the other numbers elude me."

"It's the time when there will be someone from the crew waiting. The ship can not come to said coordinates, but one of the smaller stealth boats can pick up stragglers." He sounded faint.

Alviarin stared at the pale face, working through the implications. From two hours before midnight to three after there might be a boat waiting on the other end of the island? Hope warred with hopelessness, elation with desperation. She felt overwhelmed.

Fighting her inner turmoil, she offered him the carbolyte solution again. With her help he sat half up and took a few sips. When she would have let him lay down again, he refused, but finally settled for her backpack under his head.

"You're very quiet."

"Just thinking, sir. I'll be right back – we need more water."

"Find some apples, will you? Anything fresh will do!"

If those words were meant to bring a smile to her face, they called forth the opposite. The young woman sat by the spring, waiting for the bottle to fill, sobs shaking her body. She splashed water onto her face and neck, rubbing at her temples. Then she grabbed water cress, as much as she could find easily, and started on her way back.

Suddenly returning to the cave seemed taunting. So she made the quick detour up to the outcrop, to look after their enemy.

Standing there, watching the mocking slender Submarine lying in the formerly so inviting bay, she realised she was scared of the captain gaining full memory of everything that had happened – including her name and all the reasons he had mistrusted her. She suppressed that apprehension once she had put a name to it, and watched the ants alertly. If she interpreted the movements correctly, they were planning to stay a bit longer. Damn it. She turned and jumped down through the pines, stopping only to pluck a few handfuls of the tender edible clovers.

Bending down into the cave she found him patting the floor and his sleeping bag curiously.

"Trying to make sense of your surroundings, sir?" she tried to joke, but her voice wavered. What was it with her?

"You've been gone a while." There was a slight tension to his words.

"There are no apples, Sir, but if you are willing to try, I brought watercress and clovers."

She put them down within easy reach, and gently put his hand onto the mound of leaves.

But the Captain hesitated, cocking his head a little. "Spill, what did you see out there?"

"Sir?"

"Your voice is betraying you. Speak."

Oh great, now the tears were rolling again. She sat down heavily. "Eat, Sir, please, and give me a moment."

His mouth twitched, but he brought a few stalks to his lips.

Alviarin took a few calming breaths and finally managed to explain the situation. "So with the ship waiting there, the danger of being discovered is growing every hour. But if she moves, the _Nathan James_ could be forced to leave us here for good."

Chandler had finished the green stalks with surprising speed, and now held out his right hand. "Give me your hand, Erin."

She slipped her fingers into his large warm ones shyly. It surprised her how much hearing her name from his lips meant.

"Stop shaking. You've done an impressive job, we will figure out what to do from here together."

Slowly he put question after question before her, forcing her to analyse the situation, pulling her out of the dim desperation.

"All right, there are two options," he finally concluded.

"Two? Sir?"

"Yes. Either you leave me here and try to make the rendezvous-"

"Absolutely not."

"- and come back with more help."

"No, Sir." She was shaking again, but he held her hand tightly.

"Why not?"

"I refuse to leave you, Sir. There are too many maybe's."

"So tell me the second option."

The young woman stared at him. "Captain." She sighed, then pulled her hand forcefully out of his fingers and answered in a harder voice. "The second option is to walk you down through the pathless forest in near darkness to the point the coordinates specify. Concussion, painful eyes, fever and all. We'd have to start in a few hours. Sir. It's past midday now."

"Indeed."

She could see that the prospect was daunting to him, too. "Sir… " They did not even know if he could stand by himself, let alone walk, even with her shoulder to lean on. And his eyes…

As if reading her thoughts, he took a deep breath.

"Let's try this: Help me get upright and a few steps outside."

"Sir?" This was getting scary.

Very dryly he answered: "I need to relieve myself."

Mortified, the young woman blushed. "I'm sorry I didn't think to ask you before, Sir." She reached for the ends of the thermoblanket.

"It's fine, young woman! You haven't been in the navy long!"

That brought a wry grin to her face. "No sir, I haven't." She put his shoes on his feet and finally helped him sit up. But a gasp of pain made her hesitate. "Sir? Anything I can do?"

"Think you could fashion a bandage I could use to cover my eyes?"

She'd cut the sleeve from her jacket and made a long strip from that faster than she could think, and then cut a square piece from her soft undershirt. Moistening that, she folded it in half and knelt down before Chandler. "Sir, don't startle, this is a little wet."

Gently tilting his head backwards, she put the square over his eyes and fastened it with the strip. "I hope this is ok. I used up all the bandages from my first aid kit."

"Much better, thank you. Why are you laughing?"

"Oh sir, you are a sight. There's more of you covered than left free, and that is dirty. Does the wound feel all right?"

"If I don't touch it, it's just numb."

"And the shoulder?"

"Miss, Erin, there are more pressing issues." Now he was smiling, too, if grimly.

She slipped under his good arm and carefully, keeping up a constant string of information, guided him out of the overhang and a few steps down to the next pine tree.

"Now please turn around, I'd like to keep the last shreds of my dignity."

Laughing silently to herself she did as he asked, certain he'd know if she defied his wish.

He managed reasonably well, to both their relief. Back inside the cave, he stayed sitting for a moment.

"Listen, check your first aid kit for some Ibuprofen. If I am to manage the trip down to the beach, I think I will need a painkiller."

Alviarin did as he asked silently. Even if she did not fully support his choice, she knew this was their only chance. Either way, they had to move further away from the bay. At least the sky would stay clear tonight.

"I think you should try and sleep some more, Sir. I can get more willowbark and more green stuff meanwhile, but we will have to wait a couple of hours to be safe anyway."

"Yes, get all those things, but then lie down with me."

Oh god, did the guilt have to choose this moment to remind her that he'd never say those words if he could see her?

"Back in a bit, Sir."

She returned with her shirt full of clover and watercress. The Captain's long form was stretched out on his back, the thermoblankets pulled over him. At her near silent entrance, he moved his right hand.

"I'm half awake. Anything significant?"

He'd guessed correctly that she'd taken a moment to check on the enemy ship. "No, Sir. They are preparing to sleep on the sand, a couple of fires are burning. I'd risk waiting an hour and a half, but not more."

"I trust you're judgement. Now lie down."

'Captain, if you knew how much force your words carry.' The young woman suppressed a sigh and lay down along his good side. His hand found her arm, and feeling the goosebumps he pulled at her impatiently. "You slept against my back, now move closer. If I keep using your coat as pillow, you will use my warmth."

He did not rest until her head lay against his shoulder, his arm around her, the blanket covering them both. The young woman lay tense until she realised that he had relaxed completely and was fast nearing sleep. Then she allowed her eyes to close, her limbs to soften. She did not see the small smile that softened the Captain's stern features.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

When asked later about the climb through the darkening forest, neither the Captain nor the young woman would list many details. Chandler's fever had ignored the importance of their venture, and started climbing half way through the trip. While almost pain-free, it turned the Captain into a dazed, often confused charge who leaned onto the girl blindly, hanging on often only to her voice. What she told him during those long hours, she could not remember. Only that he repeatedly asked her to keep talking, keep speaking. How she had kept upright, she was asked. Sheer will and a sense of duty, she would answer. Helpless admiration and love for the man she was supporting, she would think. How had she not lost her way? By following the stars and the map in her mind, that was the easy answer.

There was the one incident neither talked about to anybody, but that kept following both into their dreams. The Captain had started referring to it mentally as his personal white elephant.

Alviarin had changed his bandages before they started out, and pulled the tall captain upright. She had turned to reach for the backpack waiting at her feet, but found herself held back by Chandler's hurt arm around her shoulders. "Wait." His voice was strangely husky. She turned, expecting words, but his right hand slid up her arm to rest gently against her face, and he leaned down. While she recognised his minute hesitation giving her an out, she found herself lifting her face toward his, free hand reaching blindly around his back even before his lips finally touched hers. They stood for an endless, blissful, thoughtless moment. Chandler finally broke the kiss, and told the young woman hoarsely: "For luck." He could feel her smile against his palm, and her voice shook as she repeated softly: "For luck."

They had reached the empty shore just after midnight. The young woman had sat her burden down and in her desperation started a small fire. Half an hour later a skiff carrying the livid XO and two more marines had not even managed to startle her out of the utter exhaustion.

They had bundled the bleary Captain into the boat, and through a lot of angry questions she could not even understand pulled her in, too. She remembered smiling stupidly when the minimally lit _Nathan James_ came into view, and how her hands shook trying to climb the ladder up to the deck. She waited patiently until the Captain was brought on board with the help of a winch, and the slender forms of Dr Scott and CMC Jeter bent over him. Then she looked up to the stars, gave silent thanks to Wolf and her Father watching out over her, and gave in to oblivion, sinking senselessly to the ground.


	13. Chapter 13

Alviarin Rykers woke to the thrumming of the engines. She opened her eyes blearily, trying to remember where she was. Then, with a start, she sat upright and promptly hit her head against the upper bunk.

Why was she in the lower bunk? This was not her corner of the _Nathan James_ to begin with!

Rubbing her forehead, she slowly turned around. Things started coming back to her. All right, so she did not know where she was. There was water on a table, she drank thirstily. For a moment she sat quietly, thinking. Good lord, her fingers were a sight, still – blue and brown, cuts on her palms, some of them swollen and red. Her calf burned – there too was a slight inflammation. Her own fault, she'd fallen asleep on a dirty wound.  
She did not try to open the door to the small cabin – she was not yet ready to face whoever was guarding her. Because that's what she was quite clearly – a prisoner. Did this mean the Captain… Fighting hard against the emotions and fears that threatened to overwhelm her, she stood up. No, she was not following this train of thought.

In answer to her sore shoulders and back, she slowly started her Yoga-routine. She'd clear her brain and regain some movement at least. She did not think she had ever been this stiff.

Afterwards she was warm and exhausted, and quite hungry. And calm again. Whatever came next, she'd face it. She knocked on her door and took a step back.

It was Sergeant Stephen Waters who opened the door. The relief must have been quite visible, because he met her eyes with an acknowledging smile.

"Morning, Cinderella. Feeling better?"

"Sergeant Waters!" Things were not too bad then.

"Bet you're hungry."

"Yes, but also…"

"Give me a minute, I'll be back."

The marine kept his word and returned with potatoes and cold meat. When he did not leave at once Alviarin relaxed a little.

"Since you're here – how much can you tell me?"

"Actually, we are more curious about what happened to you – and the Captain. That you're hungry is a good sign. How do you feel?"

She stared up at the dark haired young man. Stephen Waters was a little taller than her, broad shouldered, with a pleasant, broad face and dark, bristly hair that usually stood into all directions.

"How is the Captain?"

"He's good. Back in command. Seems he gets headaches, sometimes, but he's fine." Waters shrugged eloquently.

The young woman was speechless, but tried to hide it while biting into the food. That was a mistake, the potatoes turned to ash in her mouth.

"But now you're awake, and seem well enough. What happened to your hands? And your clothes? Do you need anything?"

"Sergeant – you're the XO`s man, right?"

That took the other aback. "How do you mean?"

"If the captain doesn`t give out any information, should I? How long have I been here?"

"Oh, we know he hit his head, got held up, you found him and helped him down to the beach where the XO picked you up. But we want to know details! I heard the new doctor say that his head-wound was pretty horrific, but it healed remarkably well. How did you manage that? Did you see the submarine?"

For a moment a shiver took hold of the young woman. Yes, she remembered the slim, elegant form, and the threat it emanated. The word Washington…

"Sergeant, slow down. Where are we and what date and time is it? I hardly remember getting on board."

"All right." He comically swallowed his disappointment. "You were brought down here almost 14 hours ago. The doc checked on you twice to find you fast asleep, so they let you rest. And let's be done with the Sergeant already, my name is Stephen."

Alviarin took a moment to work through his words. A night and half a day , and the Captain was back in command? She had slept for the whole time?

"Stephen, thanks, I need a shower and fresh clothes. And maybe a fresh first aid kit with some iodine."

"Did a lot of climbing? Doctor Scott was quite happy with the stuff in your backpack…"

His first words elicited a storm in her head almost drowning out the rest of the sentence. That brought a frown onto the young woman's expressive features. Biting down on her lower lip she asked casually: "She was happy?"

"Yeah, said you got most of the samples she needed…"

Now she faced the taller man straight on. "Either she is talking nonsense or you are. Why am I a prisoner down here? Why was I sent on the island with such a phony excuse? If I am still a suspect then maybe this is the point where the XO comes down himself and asks me all those questions that need to be answered, or throw me overboard right now. Go tell him I've figured out the significance of my uncle's list, and what Ramsey's name is doing on it. And why one of the voices we heard on the island had a german accent."

"Miss Rykers,…"

She stepped back from him. The tension in his bearing spoke volumes. "Stop, Sergeant, I am not going to answer any 'innocent' subliminal questions. If you get me a pen and paper I'll write down my side of the story, so the men up there can figure out what to do with me. But I do insist on the shower, please."

The expression on the Sergeant's face had changed from the sympathetic bumbling marine to a closed mask. Something like disgruntled respect flitted over his features, and he nodded at her. Without a word he left the cabin.

The XO looked over from the screens. "Waters?"

The young Sergeant grimaced. "XO, I got debunked."

Slattery frowned, surprise and anger mixing into something wolfish. "What? Spit it out!"

Stephen shortened what had happened into a few sentences and waited for the explosion to come. The XO stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head with unexpected wariness. "Fantastic. Send Alanna down to take her to the showers, and have her write down 'her side of the story' afterwards. I'll talk to Garrett, she was asking after Miss Rykers, too."

"The Captain, Sir?"

"Captain's down at the sonar station. Don't bother him."

Waters walked down to find the female marine, thinking over the minutes with the young woman. He'd been too fast with the questions, too quick assuming the mention of Dr Scott would even his path. She must have been suspicious of the other woman before…

"Alanna, hold up."

The blond woman turned, surprised. "That was quick. What did she tell you?"

"Nothing, I botched it. Your turn." He quickly repeated what had occurred with the prisoner.

Alanna Mills, corporal, a couple years younger, stared at him warily. "And now you want me to pick up where you left? Stephen, the XO-"

"No, Rykers is far too smart for that. She read me like an open book. I mean," he wiped a hand over his face. "You'll see her in a minute. The scars she bears tell their own story, she looks bad, lost all appetite when I mentioned the Captain. She's pale, weak, and still she stood up to me that I was ready for a punch – and she noticed."

"Really? You're not imagining things because of her beautiful eyes?" the blond corporal mocked gently. "I'll give her that she's perceptive, but your bumblebee persona is good!"

"Nah, not this time." Stephen grimaced dryly.

"Too bad. All right. She gets a shower and fresh clothes?"

"And pen and paper. Maybe your safest act is as if you didn't know anything?"

"Yes, Sergeant. I'll keep that in mind." The sarcasm was not lost on the taller man.

When the Corporal reported to the XO an hour later, she found her superior with the Chief Engineer and the Captain. Three pairs of piercing, expectant blue eyes focused on the wiry, blond woman, making her take a formal position automatically.

"Relax, corporal, and speak freely." That was Tom Chandler. The Captain still had a bandage around his head, but his colour was normal, and his eyes were as bright as they'd ever been. His left arm rested in a sling, the fingers bandaged.

"Sir. Miss Rykers took a shower, changed into the clothes I brought her. She would not engage in conversation. In the beginning she told me rather calmly that she would not trust a word out of my mouth, but simultaneously apologized for it. Here-" she held up a folded piece of paper, "- is her report. If I may, it seems rather short. Her clothes are being checked right now."

"Thank you, corporal Mills. Anything personal to add?" the XO tilted his head slightly, honestly expectant.

"She was very matter of fact about it all, Sir. Very polite, rather dry, as if she'd made the decision to confront – you, sir, and Dr Scott, earlier. If she's acting, she's better than anyone at the academy. I feel guilty for treating her so." She gazed at the three faces, an unapologetic lift in her shoulders. They had chosen her and Stephen for this job, they knew why.

Chief Engineer Garrett nodded, returning a minuscule smile.

"Her physical condition?"

"A bad cut on her left calf. Bruises all over, especially her hands, arms and knees. There seem to be weals over her shoulders, and her feet are roughened up. Weak overall, lost some weight since last time I saw her."

"She did arrive without shoes." The XO studiously did not glance at the captain.

Chandler was focused on the narrow sheet of paper the corporal had put on the table. Now he looked up and after glancing in the round, dismissed the blond woman: "Thank you, Corporal Mills. Would you be so kind as to send up CMC Jeter and Dr Scott, if she can spare us a few minutes."

After Alanna left, the group rounded on their captain. Slattery's expression was decidedly odd. "Tom… how do you want to proceed?"

"Relax, Mike. This is so short and concise that there is not much to discuss. Repeat to me again what you found in her backpack."

"Ok." The burly man leaned back. "There was the rope. Its condition matches with being used for climbing – probably more than once. Some of the samples Dr Scott had Rykers collect, wrapped in what's left of her jacket. That is a bit of a puzzle – it is really dirty, some blood on it, and the sleeve that made up the bandage around your eyes."

At this point the dark-skinned CMC entered the room. "Dr Scott sends her regards, she's in the middle of something."

"We're just discussing the recent awakening of our returned suspect / charge / whatever you want to call her." The XO's expression had its usual sneer back.

"Go on, Mike." Chandler reminded the other a bit impatiently.

"Your pager, her com. A small fire-kit, one standard thermos-blanket, one separate one – civilian style."

"Let's talk about her com for a moment, please." Andrea Garrett cut in, pointedly. "I checked it, with Andy Chung beside me. It had been tempered with."

"Hrm." Mike Slattery grunted. "I had given orders for her com to be disabled, since the Captain wanted e-jammers on. She could receive, but not call out."

"Sir?" The blond woman turned to the captain inquisitively.

"You all remember that talk. I did ask for the e-jammers." The captain did not want a long discussion about the dangers this move on his XO's side had entailed. "What else?"

Slattery glanced at another paper that lay before him. "A broad strap, standard issue, also quite battered. Almost empty first aid kit, with some dried bark that Dr Scott identified as Willow."

Here the Captain twitched slightly. All eyes turned to him, but he only grimaced. "Go on."

"The water bottle, but that was empty. Two empty carbolyte safety-rations."

Chief Engineer Garrett leaned over, reaching for the folded paper the blond Corporal had left. "May I?"

"Read it aloud, please. Not all of us know what it entails."

She nodded, and unfolded the page. The young woman wrote in a concise, slightly tilted hand.

"'After a hike of roughly three hours I met the Captain's trail some hundred metres from the border of the ravine, see map, followed it to the place where he must have lost his footing. Using the rope I climbed down, Captain was unconscious, suffering from gash to the side of his head, left shoulder dislocated. After administering what first aid I could, carried him up with the help of the broad strap on the backpack.' Up? How far up? I apologize, sir, but that's plain ridiculous." Garrett frowned, lips curling. Then she glanced back down at the page. "'Found an overhang to use for cover. _Nathan James_ gone, Submarine in her place.' Her writing's a scrawl for those words. 'Having taken care of the Captain's wounds, spent the night under cover (rain). Captain slowly coming to, confused, light painful to eyes - kept them covered. Shoulder much better'- I wonder how that came to pass?" At the Captains glance, the Chief Engineer took a breath. "Sorry, Sir. '- two enemy marines passed by, mentioned Washington, one with german accent. Captain lucid. Waited in hiding for the enemy to pass again, discussed code on Captain's pager. Decided best course of action to wait for early nightfall and make way to rendezvous-point.'" She looked up, her face carefully blank. "So what's the working theory?"

Slattery leaned forward, but the Captain held up a hand. "Your impression, Andrea."

Garrett frowned. "It sounds rather ludicrous, but she must be aware that whatever she writes here will be corroborated or denied by you, and thus can be checked easily."

"Or she knows the Captain…"

Chandler finished the sentence tiredly: "… yes, or she knows I do not remember a single minute since looking down that ravine."

For a long moment silence ruled the room. Then the tall man turned to the last member. "Jeter, your thoughts."

"Sir, I'd go and pick that story apart at its seams. Her style is so dry, she's challenging the reader to ask questions. In her defence, we know the Sub was in that bay, we know that had she been a traitor, you wouldn't be here now. Whatever crazy theories are floating around in the assembled heads, the timeframe is short. And Dr Scott gave an all clear on your blood, Sir. You're in remarkably good condition physically, considering. So No to 'she might have gotten drugs from the sub', and very likely No to 'might still be a double agent' – nothing is lost. That mention of Washington though makes no sense."

"We don't know the context."

"Sir, if I may… facing her, hearing and seeing her, might trigger your memory."

Chandler glanced at him rather coldly. "No, not yet."

Slattery growled: "All right, how do we proceed? Can I go and question her?"

"Take Garrett with you, Mike, and go easy on her."

The XO grinned wolfishly. "On Garrett?"

That brought chuckles all around.

At this moment, Stephen Waters entered quietly, broad face watchful.

"Waters? What news?"

"Nothing grand sir, just that we checked Miss Ryker's clothes. The destruction overlaps with her scars, and confirms the climbing – or crawling. There's dirt everywhere, consistent with what was on the Captain's clothes. There's a piece missing from her undershirt, matching the blindfold on you, Sir."

"Right, thanks, Sergeant. Wait outside for a minute." The XO waited for the door to close on the other, and turned on his captain. "Sir, what if I take him with me to talk to Rykers, she already knows he was playing her."

"Lay down your cards, you mean?"

"At least some of them – Mills is still in the grey…"

"Sure, take him. Have him take notes."

"Aye, Sir."


	14. Chapter 14

I. Chapter 14

Alviarin had stretched out on the bunk again after Alanna Mills had left her. Feeling renewed after the shower, the cut on her calf taken care of, she impatiently waited for something, someone to come and confront her. They must have smelled the sarcasm in the short sentences she had used to describe the occurrences on the island. Holy shit, but it had been difficult to write all that down – it was such an intimate, every-second-counted kind of experience, her mind was awhirl still. She tried to understand what the crew would see, would think of her. What the Captain would have told them. Would he come and talk to her? She did not know how she felt about that thought. But then why was she here, why not in her own bunk? _Did_ that mean there was something wrong? Had she been right thinking the Captain was worse – or…? Heart beating hard, she jumped up and started pacing. Even better for her sore muscles.

She tried to summon up a map of the Atlantic, where were they going? Heading for Washington? But the accented voice had sounded like he was telling a story, not expectant… Why would they head for the Capital? There was nothing left there!

A headache coming on, she sat back down, rubbing her neck with both hands. So Uncle Mike had known what was happening, and had made a list of those who would be trustworthy and knowledgeable to work on finding a cure. His contacts with the Europeans must have warned him well ahead to realise that guys like Ramsey were unstable and would pose a threat. He must have figured out that there would be more immune people – but how had he known that Ramsey – and wasn't there a brother? – were like her? Were they like her, or did they have a cure themselves? There were more names with weird signs beside them. He probably had had a detailed report on the tiny laptop she had carried, meant for whoever could make sense of it. But Ramsey was coming from Europe, not hard to imagine how they'd left that part of the World. And now they were heading for the Americas?

Oh God, Uncle Mike. Uncle Paul would have a laugh, seeing her now. "Didn't watch out for yourself, did you?" he'd sneer good-naturedly. "Been too trusting again! Nobody will take care of you, if you don't do it yourself!" Oh, her father's only younger brother and his paranoia had been a learning experience, but not well enough, it would seem. "You're too quick to believe the best in people! Take a step back, look how much evil is hidden in mankind! Don't let them take advantage of you!" At times, it had been hard to understand how the slender man with the laughing eyes and quick hands could have such a dark outlook on life.

Pictures of the harsh lessons life had dealt her swamped her: her mother dying, her father unable to spare a thought for the waif at his feet, the wolf, her best friend and only relative for far too long, the stark contrast of the native life, introduction into civilisation, the far different lives her father's brothers lead, the feeling of being handed off from one to the other, until she found a temporary home with Uncle Mike…

Resurfacing found her curled up in a corner of the room when the door finally opened.

She struggled to stand upright, arm wiping over her wet face, to meet the somewhat surprised gaze of Chief Engineer Garrett.

"Ma'am." Her voice still wobbled.

"Miss Rykers, if you feel up to it, the XO would like to…" the tall woman hesitated for a fraction of a second, "… get some details on that story of…"

Alviarin Rykers found her feet. "Don't bother, Ma'am. I am to follow you. How come you came alone? I might bear I don't know, poison? Bacteria? A chair's leg might do?"

The biting sarcasm took the older woman by surprise. Her face closed even more, and she motioned for the young woman to proceed her out the door.

To the young woman's mild surprise – nothing would pierce the shield of sarcasm and restraint she was busy building around herself - she was led up to one of the normal gathering rooms. The XO sat at the table, flanked by Stephen Waters and CMC Jeter. Their faces were as carefully neutral as she hoped hers was.

Alviarin sat down in the designated chair and leaned back, conscious of their mentally folded arms, tense shoulders, and masked faces. Gods, what was this? She tried to hold herself relaxed, put her hands on the table and glanced around quickly. When Slattery leaned forward as if to start the conversation, she heard herself ask quickly, quietly, and with barely hidden desperation: "Tell me the Captain is alive."

The same surprise that shook herself could be read easily in the other's faces. Chagrined at her loss of self-control, she repeated with more strength behind the words: "Tell me the Captain is alive, and I will answer any question you have."

To her relief it was Stephen Waters who answered reflexively, without an inkling of hesitation: "I told you he was on the bridge! He's fine!"

The relief flooding her was so great it made her hands shake – she curled them into fists in her lap. "You won't hold it against me if I took every word out of your mouth to be a lie. Sergeant." She met his eyes with as much friendly irony as she could muster. _He was fine. He was truly fine._

The quick glance the XO threw the Sergeant told her equally clearly that he might have deemed it more useful if she had been unaware of their leader's health. Whatever.

The young woman felt giddy, and bit down on a sneer. "You had questions, XO?"

Slattery frowned angrily. He not only rose to the challenge, but changed the direction of his question, asking with true curiosity: "How come you're so familiar with navy terms?"

Oh my, that was not what she had expected. But _that_ secret had been out for a while. "As Lt. Chung might have told you, I am Commodore Francis Rykers' niece. He was a part of my life when I was at an impressionable age."

"Care to elaborate?" That was the Chief Engineer, gently.

"There is not much to tell. I've never stepped onto a navy cruiser before I came onto the _Nathan James_ , but I knew all the terms, how to address most of the ranks, how the hierarchy worked on the _Serenity_ , how he expected his crew to act. While things are looser – and shall we call it 'expletive deleted' on the _Nathan James_ – this felt familiar." Oh dear, she'd have to watch her tongue. But on the other hand, if she wanted them to trust her, there was no point in being obtuse.

"You do realise you're not crew."

"No really, Sir, I am shocked." The words were out of her mouth before she could check them. But then while she really had begun to like the XO, she hated to be taken for a complete idiot. Gratifyingly Stephen and Garrett had to suppress a grin, and even the CMC's eyes twitched.

But Slattery's brows furrowed furiously. "Let's go over the day you left the _Nathan James._ Walk me through it from when you left Dr Scott's lab."

Reaching for the map lying in the middle of the table, she answered: "That seems like a waste of time, Sir, since you were on deck watching from when she left me, until I climbed into the boat. I think more interesting must be the path I took on the island."

She did not know how calm and dry her words were, nor how exactly that was the reason the XO did not explode in her face.

She skipped over the climb, but told them how she had headed for the outcrop, describing in detail the view and her first glimpse of the overhang. When she came to the moment she happened upon the Captain's trail, and the blood on the rock, Jeter intercepted:

"Why did you not try to contact the _Nathan James_?"

The young woman's eyes came up with unexpected anger. "My com was dead. I tried calling once, twice, a third time before I let myself down into the ravine, but there was no answer! Nothing!"

She glanced over at the XO, about to challenge him to check the device, but what she read in his face, although quickly hidden, made the blood rise into her face. "Oh bloody hell!" _And I thought I knew everything about paranoia!_ The nails were biting into the flesh of her hands.

Alviarin swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, and continued, coldly. She skipped over the details of how she had strapped the unconscious captain to her back, moving on to how she had carried him to the cave, but found herself facing the dark-haired Sergeant.

"Wait a moment. Judging from the marks on the rope, that were at least twenty-five meters of harsh climbing. Are you telling me you carried the Captain – more than your own weight – on your back for that?"

The anger burning coldly in her, she answered: "Yes, I did. I judged it to be about twenty meters."

"Care to elaborate?"

She could not read if the other were using the same words on purpose. "No, I really don't."

"How would you come to such knowledge?"

"I grew up in the mountains of Canada and Alaska. I have survival training of different origins."

Here the chief engineer held up a wiry hand. "Maybe we could ask Miss Rykers to pass on some of her knowledge."

A bitter chuckle escaped Alviarin's lips. "You mean a demonstration?" While her muscles protested loudly at the thought, her anger was great enough. "Anytime." She flexed her hands against her thighs, the pain of the barely-healed wounds serving to distract her. Her head was pounding.

CMC Jeter was frowning slightly. "Let's stay on track. So you brought the Captain to that 'cave'? Go on."

She took them through the whole thirty-six hours of their stay on the island, holding on by shreds to a clinical style. There were many questions which she answered patiently, like a robot repeating the Captain's side of the conversations from memory. But when finally asked about the path down to the coordinates supplied by Chandler's pager, she found her mind blanking, her head heavy, and her hands –

"You're bleeding, Miss Rykers. Here, take my tissue. No, your nose – oh dear, your hands, too! XO, I think we need a break. She's exhausted."

 _The com… None of this would have been necessary, if…_

Alviarin barely managed it to the closest head: her stomach revolted against the tension and pressure.

Afterwards she liberally splashed water onto her face, grateful it was the blond Corporal standing behind her. "What are you doing here?"

Alanna smiled at her in the mirror. "I was posted outside the door. I heard most. You really carried the Captain up a cliff?"

Dead tired now, the younger woman shook her head. "It was a pretty normal steep incline. Look at my hands…" Alviarin met the other woman's eyes. "Yes, he was heavy, but I had no choice. I got the disabled com, see?" The bitterness made her words biting.

"You're shivering. Should I tell the XO you need a break?"

"Thanks, but I'd rather get this over with. I'll suffocate if they put me down in the 'cell' again."

Alanna Mills walked her dark haired charge to the gathering room again, and met the XO's glance for a short moment.

* * *

"XO, I truly can't remember any details of the walk down. Captain Chandler was feverish, I don't believe he will have a very clear memory, either. It was dark, long, rocky, mossy. Birds we woke up, stars up ahead. I remember being thankful for the clear night, otherwise I don't know if I could have stayed on track."

"Did the Captain talk to you?"

The young woman huffed out a short breath. "No, Sir. He asked me a few times to keep talking, or that he was thirsty, or to take a break."

"To keep him aware of the path under his feet? I understand his eyes were covered, still?"

"Yes." It was easier and less painful than to explain about how Chandler had seemed to hold on to her voice. _He had liked her voice…_

"Tell me again why the blindfold?"

"Any kind of light seemed to pain him, or any kind of movement to his eyes maybe. He asked me for a bandage to cover them."

"Which you fashioned from your jacket and your undershirt." Waters' moderate voice was tense.

Alviarin rested her head in her hand for a moment.

"Sir, I need to tell you something else. I think I figured out the significance of my uncle's list, and maybe where the submarine is heading."

"Really?" Gods, the XO could sound like his superior, if he wanted to.

"I think he lists scientists knowledgeable enough to fabricate a cure, and differentiates between those honourable and those who might be swayed to a fanatic's cause. That's why Ramsey is mentioned as a marine captain. He is immune, if like me or by another cure, I do not know. But he is crazy. There was a brother, who's first name I cannot recall. My uncle must have had contacts with the Europeans. That's why he gave me the list, sent me to Dr Masters. Because my blood should help. That's why I think the sub came from Europe, and is making its way to the Americas, looking for whatever you want to call it – domination. And I do not think they are heading for Washington, quite the opposite, maybe they were referring to the president."

"Your uncle must have been quite in the middle of it all…"

Now she lost her patience, even though the pounding in head, hands and leg made clear thought difficult. "I do not know if you know the name Paul Mycroft, a political and behavioural scientist, survival expert and paranoid schizophrenic. He worked closely with Uncle Mike." She'd leave the last bit of information for another day. "I know that his favoured informants sat in Norway, Moscow, Italy, and Israel. Combine that to growing up with an older brother like Sir Francis. Believe me, I am as frustrated as the next person that I lost he laptop he entrusted me with. I think they are targeting the _Nathan James_ because of the cure, which paints a huge bullseye on Dr Scott."

Alviarin leaned back, exhausted.

Chief Engineer Garrett leaned forward, placed a gentle hand on her arm and asked: "Would you satisfy my curiosity as to how close you were to this Uncle Michael Rykers? You said you grew up in Alaska and Canada? I understood he lived close to Baltimore."

The young woman stared at the warm slender fingers on her arm as if the human contact was tethering her to reality.

"I used to spend my early teen years with various members of my father's family, one of them Dr Michael Rykers. He" -

 _...put it into his head that I should go to university, once he had made me reasonably presentable to civilisation, but since I had trouble adjusting to big cities…_

"- took me in after my father's death and gave me the opportunity to study close to the mountains I was used to. He was stationed in Calgary for a while, and our relationship remained close even after he moved away. He paid for those parts of my studies I could not finance myself."

After a few moments of silence, the XO nodded at Waters, who motioned Corporal Mills inside the room.

"Miss Rykers, if you would wait with Corporal Mills for a few moments." Slattery was all dry politeness.

The two women left, and the silence in the room grew uncomfortable.

Finally CMC Jeter lifted his brows and stated calmly: "I believe her."

Andrea Garrett took a breath: "Me too."

Slattery glanced at his aid expectantly.

"Sir, I'll tell you openly I am impressed by this young woman. There is nothing in her story that does not add up, she's been very brave facing us here, and she's not given in to hysterics or – you know, games - once." Waters' words were tense. "She accomplished almost inhuman things on that island, kept her head, and brought the Captain home safe. You all saw her hands. We should not be treating her like this."

"You forget we have no voice opposite hers, Sergeant." The XO had crossed his arms over his chest.

"Agreed, Sir, but all the evidence and the healthy Captain speak for her."

"For once I'm not fighting you, just trying to look at all the angles. I did talk to the captain about this – there's no evidence whatsoever that she had a hand in the second prisoner's escape or contamination of the drinking water. Maybe it really was just a perfect storm how things came together. She said the Sub seemed to be taking on freshwater, too."

Andrea Garret leaned forward: "I just have one question – about the Captain's shoulder. Is it feasible that she'd be able to set it by herself? That it would slip back into joint just by being pulled in a convenient direction?"

Stephen grimaced at that, but in a humorous way. "We can ask around, I know at least Danny and Scotty had a dislocated shoulder once."

"I will though insist on her demonstrating that carrying strap. Andrea, you're still willing to have her working with you? I'll get the Captain's OK. I know Dr Scott will be anxious to hear those theories about the Submarine. Any of those names she mentioned mean anything to you?"

To the XO's surprise, it was the CMC who nodded slightly. "I've read some of Mycroft's writings on behavioural sciences, body language, tics and so on. He was brilliant, if disturbingly dark. I know the name is an alias," he supplied as an afterthought.

Slattery grunted. "All right. I'll update the Captain and afterwards talk to her alone. Stephen, you're on loose watch with Alanna, as before. I take it that does work for you?"

"Yes, Sir." It was quite clear from the younger marine's posture that he would have made a point of looking up the young woman anyway.

"Great, take her down to her bunk, make sure she has everything. Shoes!" The XO was back to his grumbling. "Dismissed."

"Do you need me for anything more? I'd like to walk with them." Garrett stood up. Slattery motioned for her to proceed to her liking.

He and the dark-skinned thin man at this other side waited for the two to leave the room, then slowly stood up in almost unison.

"Come with me to inform the captain?"

"Aye."

The two men found Captain Chandler on the bridge, dark sunglasses shielding his eyes, but apart from the bandage to the side of his head there was no trace of the ordeal that was quite fresh and awake in their memories.

Chandler took one long look at them and, after a quiet command to the officer next to him stepped outside.

In tacit agreement they walked onto deck and found a quiet corner. The three men stood for a long moment searching the horizon, then the Captain remarked dryly: "So you're both telling me our suspicion was unfounded, and Miss Rykers saved my life?"

"In essence, sir. All the pieces fit, the only hole…"

"… is my memory?"

"It would seem so."

"Thank you, gentlemen." It was a dismissal, but the two men remained.

"Tom, there's something else." He repeated what the young woman had told them about her theories and her uncle's list. Chandler listened seriously and at the end turned around to look up at the ship behind them.

"I'll talk to Dr Scott, she mentioned something concerning this bloody list earlier. We'll see what comes of it – too little too late?"

"Tom?"

The captain did not answer. Jeter, watching the exchange quietly, interjected gently: "Sir, she's won quite few of the crew over, besides young Lt Chung. Why not confront her?"

 _"XO to the bridge, XO to the bridge."_ Slattery nodded at the other two men and walked away.

"Jeter, I can't confront her yet. Ever since that music evening I feel I better stay as far as possible from her – she rises all kinds of questions and …"

The old CMC watched the other man thoughtfully.

"… and I treated her like a traitor and all she tried to do was fit in and work for her passage, so to speak. Jeter, it's my own fault what happened on the island."

"Sir, forgive me, but it was the XO`s decision to disable that com."

"But would I have stopped him had I known? I gave the order to keep the e-jammer running."

".. and saved the _Nathan James_ , Sir! You know what happened while you were…"

"… being rescued?" Chandler grimaced, meeting the other's dark eyes for a moment.

"Sir, just a thought: If she grew up with Commodore Francis Rykers as her uncle, that explains her formality with the officers, and her ease with the ranks. Everybody has noticed how normal the addresses seem…"

Chandler nodded slowly, adding: "That's worth keeping in mind."

"Captain Chandler!" Rachel Scott was walking towards them at a fast pace. "I had a video message from Dr Hunter. I really think we should head for Florida."

The XO had learned from Jeter where to find Miss Rykers, when he finally had a moment to spare. They were heading for Florida, and he had been instrumental in the decision. But he still needed to finish that talk with the girl. It was not fair to leave her hanging like that.

He opened the door to the mess hall quietly, sneaking into the back of the room soundlessly. Rykers was sitting at the piano, volume turned low, and sang an old Cohen classic.

For all his sneer and pointed barbs, Slattery's step halted involuntarily and he listened to the deep voice. The young woman was pouring out her heart even though she sang softly. At the end her voice cracked, and she bowed her head.

Embarrassed, the XO cleared his throat. "That was amazing."

She startled, but caught herself quickly and turned to him. "I did not know you had much appreciation for music, Sir."

"Oh, but I do, if it's done well."

"Thank you."

"Listen, there are a few things left unsaid."

She got up at once, alert, and walked over so she could sit down opposite him.

Slattery took a silent breath. He was not at his best in things like this. "In the name of the crew, and myself", he added with sudden emphasis, "thank you for bringing the captain home."

The young woman across the table blushed lightly, and brushed a hand over her face. "Sir, while I appreciate your words, there is no-"

"Yes, Miss, there is a need to say this aloud. We haven't treated you very well." That last came out a little sheepishly, and brought the grey eyes up focusing on his face again.

"The com? Will you tell me why?"

The tall man leaned back, and after a moment of hesitation sketched out the events that led up to her being sent on the bogus mission for earth samples. Rykers very quickly connected all the dots, and told him right to his face the names of those in on the deception. She did not blink when he told her that the decision to disable her com was his alone.

Secretly the older man was impressed. She read people very easily, and while politeness or shyness had held her back, she'd have figured out all the layers by herself if given some time.

And then she surprised him even more.

"The Captain is a man who looks at all possible angles. He carries all the responsibility. That's what makes him so special." She exhaled a shaky breath. _He'll keep mistrusting me until this is over for him._

Somehow the XO wanted to reassure the girl. "We learned the hard way that there are layers over layers in this virus outbreak."

A bitter laugh escaped her. "Oh, I understand perfectly. That's what makes this so hard." The glance he caught unintentionally told him quite clearly that she had not meant to say the last part aloud.

"Miss, but do believe me, this is hard for him, too." Ok, where had that come from. This was not his place to say. So he changed direction. "Anyway, you are free to move around on the ship as before. Chief Garrett probably told you already that she'd appreciate your help down with the engineers."

"And that she'll remind me of the demonstration of my carrying technique as soon as my hands are healed." The young woman threw in dryly.

He ignored her, equally dryly. "Dr Scott I think will address you soon, she's had some news and new ideas."

"And if I want to leave the ship?" her voice was so small, he startled when the words sunk in.

Staring at her for a long moment, he answered neutrally: "We are heading for Florida. A stop in between is out of the question, but as far as I am concerned you are free to go as soon as we touch land."

"Dr Hunter? That's who Rachel Scott has been in contact with?"

Wow, she really did know her way around those names. "I believe so. Are you really considering leaving the _Nathan James?_ "

The young woman gave him a humorous sneer at the evasive answer. "Sir, I need to consider my options."

The lost, haunted look in her eyes gave him pause. His glance fell on the piano.

"How are your hands?"

She glanced down at them, spreading her fingers. "Getting there, thank you." A small smile lightened her eyes.

"Do you know 'City of New Orleans'?"

"Aye, I think Scotty might even have sheet music somewhere."

"Good. Well, I'll leave you to it. Good night, Miss Rykers."

The young woman smiled at him. "Good night, XO, and thank you for the talk."

The sudden understanding the first officer felt for the young Sergeant – and Lt Chung – took him by surprise, though it shouldn't have. She was smart, considerate, and had a beautiful smile.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

Captain Chandler stood on his favourite spot looking out over the horizon, the sun rising on his left. They would reach Florida in a few days. His thoughts circled, as so often in the last days, around the hole in his memory. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. How could he remember the days, weeks and moths since Baltimore and Norfolk so clearly, but the last two days were blank? He remembered standing on the edge of the gully, looking out and down, remembered the exact thoughts he had before – nothing.

He had not yet brought himself to talk to the young woman who had won even his XO's heart. Her every feature was burned into his brain, the first time he met her down on the deck, the grey eyes, her shyness at his address, the incomparable voice at that music evening, his warring feelings at her singing his dead wife's favourite song. But while he remembered all this, he could not call to mind a word of what she must have said to him on the island. All his brain would give him was the impression of willowbark – a bitter taste in his mouth.

He was shaken from his reverie by voices. There were Lt. Chung, Andrea Garrett, Waters and Mills, and quite a few more marines milling about on the lower deck. What was going on? Chandler moved to climb down from his hiding spot, but froze when he realised who the group was turning to expectantly. It was the dark braid that gave her away so quickly, dressed as she was in the same slacks as his crew. Rykers was carrying a slender rope in one gloved hand, and a roll of broad cord in the other. There was laughter and sneers, and curiosity coming off the group in palpable waves.

The hairs on the back of his neck were crawling. It felt as if the horizon was trying to creep up on him. He could feel the silken strands of that dark braid between his fingers.

Down on the other deck, the young woman was shyly explaining something about the two bands in her hands, glancing around at the assembly with large eyes. But there was a set to her shoulders, a surety to her movements that belied the impression of insecurity, and instead warned them that she would get this over with and be done with them.

The deep voice was calm, commanding attention. There was a short moment of discussion.

Instinctively the Captain moved closer to the railing so he could catch a word or two. They were joking who would take his part in this undertaking – they were making the young woman demonstrate how she had carried him up the ravine's side. Finally Rykers moved her hand decisively and turned to Corporal Mills. Now he could see her face clearly, the wind at her back blew the words up to his watching point.

" _Will you do this?"_

The calm, weirdly accent-less deep voice made the Captain's hands shake where they were gripping the railing. His mind was crawling on the inside of his head.

He missed what happened next. By the time the storm in his head had abated, the group below him had moved a little, forming a tight knot around the two women. Mills was lying on the floor, and Rykers was moving around and over her, placing the broad strap just so, and finally pulling the blond woman upright and onto her back. After a short while of fidgeting, she could demonstrate two free hands, and the rope, thrown expertly by Waters up to the pole one-and-a-half storeys above them, was fastened to her middle.

Chandler slid down the ladder like a marine on his first day, stepping toward the narrow walkway that would give him better sight down.

Rykers was using the rope to climb up the steep side of the incline, the blond corporal motionless on her back. It was a slow climb, almost painful to watch. The blond woman was the same size as the dark-braided one, and Rykers seemed almost lanky – Mills had said she thought the young woman had lost weight.

Good lord, to imagine she had carried him up twice or more of that height! Again Chandler's hands tightened convulsively on the bar he was gripping, as the memory of her warm slender shoulders under his arm overtook him.

After the duo reached the top, Rykers glanced down at the onlookers, grinned, and mimed throwing the Corporal down at them. General hoots were the answer.

The two women were close to him now. If she turned her head a few degrees up, she'd see him. He could see her hands in the dark utility-gloves gripping the rope tightly. The tall man found himself rooted to the spot, blood pounding in his head the same way the memories were pounding his consciousness.

… _Gentle fingers on his face, strong hand behind his neck, bitter taste in his mouth…_

…" _Captain Chandler, can you hear me? Please, please…"_

… _cool hands gripping his searching fingers securely…_

…" _I'm Rykers, sir, the girl…"…_

… _the joy in her voice when he came fully awake the first time… her slender form stretched out beside him, fast asleep, when the voices came back… her calm assessment of the situation they found themselves in…'Erin', why would she give him that name?_

Now he understood her hesitation in giving him her full name a second time. How would he have reacted? How did he react now?

… _her desperation, her strength, her humour… the deep voice… always it came back to the deep, comforting voice pulling him back from the brink…_

And, oh Lord – the kiss.

At precisely this moment the young woman, already roping herself and her charge down, glanced up at him. Their eyes met, and time stood still. For a long moment they stared at each other, blood leaving her face only to rush back in a wave. Chandler felt himself growing cold and hot, unable to focus his thoughts.

Then her grip on the rope gave out and she slipped and stumbled down – his breath caught along with those of the assembly below her – but only for a heartbeat. She tightened her grip, gave a quiet answer to a question Mills must have asked her, and slowly resumed her climb down. Not once did she glance up at him again.

Captain Chandler took a deep breath, flexed his stiff fingers and gazed down at the group, heart still hammering, but mind clear now. He could see the awe in the upturned faces. Rykers stepped down onto deck without pretence and released the Corporal back onto her own feet. She was hard pushed to loosen all the knots in strap and rope, he could hear the good-natured goading about her shaking hands. There was a lot of shoulder-clapping, raised brows, and impressed shrugs in the small crowd. Finally somebody noticed that the slender young woman in their midst was not saying anything, and Chung and Garrett unobtrusively pulled her out of the throng toward the railing.

As he reached the deck they were standing on, he was joined by the XO.

"Impressive, your little saviour." Mike offered.

"Wasn't this a bit early?" Chandler asked, inflection empty. "She can hardly be fully healed."

Andrea Garrett had been walking toward them, and had caught the last words. Now she answered Slattery's expressive shrug: "The situation has been weighing heavily on the young woman, and when Andy suggested she show us the knots and do an easy climb along the rope, she agreed quickly."

Despite himself, the Captain dug deeper: "Crew gave her a hard time?"

"Ah, no, Sir. They want to hear her stories, but she's been keeping to herself, sleeping badly, not talking to anybody, even Alanna. It's only been a few days, but she's a bit of a ghost…"

" _I refuse to leave you, Sir."… the stories of her childhood she'd told him to distract him from the pain were a muddle, wolf eyes and foreign words…_

"Sir?" Slattery had touched his arm.

Chandler shrugged it off. "I'd like a few words with her."

And then he was standing beside the young woman, intensely aware of her still, tense form. Her hands – she had slipped off the gloves a bit earlier – were gripping the railing so hard, the knuckles were standing out sharply. The pulse at the side of her throat was the only thing alive. It seemed her heart was hammering as badly as his.

For a moment he glanced down at the pale face, then turned toward the horizon. How to begin? The memories were still warring in his head. Maybe it was a good thing he only had to sort through tactile and audible impressions. Chandler had not noticed how long the silence had stretched, when the young woman turned to him and said with false calm: "Say something, Sir."

He stared into the grey eyes, startled by the deep voice. The detached part of his mind noticed the dark circles under her skin, the bluish sheen to her cheeks. No, she was not all well.

The first thing that came into his mind was a question. "What language were you speaking… in the beginning?" It came out clumsily, but she understood at once. A slight blush accompanied her answer: "Na-Dené."

"Ah." The language of the Chipewyan. Consciously trying to ease the tension, he leaned on one arm. "The wolf child – that was you?"

He could see the pain rising in her eyes, how hard it was for her to force a breath into her lungs. "Yes." She swallowed. "You remember that? I hardly know what I told you…"

"What did you do once you realised the com was dead?"

"I didn't. I mean, I did not realise anything. It seemed to work fine, only later it told me there was nobody within reach. I carried it here with me." When he did not answer at once, she warily added a question: "Did you know the XO had disabled it?" _Did you order it?_

Chandler stared hard at her, but she returned his gaze calmly. "No, I did not. I'm afraid I might have seconded his decision, had I known…"

Rykers – _Erin? –_ turned back to look over the water.

"If I find a moment to ask you about your family, your father's brothers specifically, will you tell me more?"

She hung her head for a minute. Then she faced him again, not trying to hide anything. "Sir, I reserve the right to keep family secrets." There was the hint of a smile. "But anything to..." she shrugged. "… be of assistance."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I heard Sir Francis speak, once…"

Her eyes flew up to his face, seeming lighter suddenly. She had liked this uncle, who must have been more of a strict grandfather.

The captain changed direction. "You also have a degree in arctic engineering? Ever work in that direction?"

Now she frowned. With a secret smile Chandler noticed how extremely expressive the oval face was. "I jobbed on an oil rig and on the supply boat for internships, practical training…"

He was a little surprised. "That's a harsh training ground."

She smiled out at the horizon, sorting through memories. "No, Sir. Quite the opposite."

He waited for her to continue, studying the way the sunlight reflected on her hair, the way her lashes threw shadows on the narrow cheeks.

"With my native background I had an easy start with the Inuit, and once you have their respect, and show them yours, it's a very productive environment."

Honestly curious now, he asked: "Which tribes?"

Her answer came without thought: "Oh, many. Aleuts of course, Gwich'in, and some of my best friends were from the Tanana tribe." The words slipped so easily off her tongue, he had momentary difficulty correlating them to the written words.

She caught him staring at her, and started. A curious change came over the open features, pain, wariness, and a piercing sense of capitulation, then she turned away, hiding her face.

His fingers itched to push the curtain of loose dark strands back and turn her chin upwards so he could find out what was bothering her. Instead he asked gently: "Miss Rykers?"

He saw a shiver run over the slender form, even reached out a hand to touch her shoulder.

But they were interrupted when a sudden shudder ran through the ship accompanied by a noise like the echo of a torpedo, and the atmosphere changed to something loaded with tension.

"What was that?" His hand had found her arm, the warm contact another jolt to his memory.

… " _You will use my warmth!_ " _She'd been so cold, so tense against him, relaxing only after he'd almost fallen asleep…_

He barely noticed that her hand had equally automatically wrapped around his arm.

"Did the _Nathan James_ strike something?" the deep voice was quiet.

His mind was churning, calling up pictures of the submarine, and his face darkened. He had to get to the bridge, see the sonar. "We are not done talking, Miss Rykers. But you are dismissed for now."

He felt her fingers resting in his keenly for a short moment, then turned and hurried inside the ship.

Had he looked back at the young woman, he would have been surprised.

Alviarin could not analyse her feelings calmly. While the talk had gone relatively smoothly, and she did not feel the need to jump down into the heaving waves, every question, every look from the tall man seemed to remind her of that moment he had surprised her repairing the fixtures. She should be more careful with her answers, but he – and the memories of the island – had something about him that made it too easy to answer. Even with the knowledge of his suspicions, his mistrust hovering in her consciousness like a dark cloud, the moment she had noticed him watching – their eyes meeting – had been different. He had sounded almost gentle just now…

And he had not reacted in any way to her mention of her native friends, even seemingly aware of the names. He had not asked about Ramsey, the sub, 'Washington', either.

Burying her face in her hands for a moment, she tried to calm her hammering heart and clear her face of any traces of the talk. Had his last words been a promise or a threat?

She allowed herself a small smile. He looked well, his eyes piercingly back to normal, the healing wound lightly covered.

She felt eyes on her and turned, meeting the dark gaze of the CMC with sudden apprehension.

"Miss Rykers, you look a little shaken."

Quickly she calmed her features and met the older man's gaze solemnly. "What would make the ship resonate like that?"

Jeter gave her a serious smile, and held her glance long enough to tell her quite clearly she could not deceive him. "At least we know the submarine has nothing to do with it."

A second boom went through the ship, and both turned toward the marines heading their way.


	16. Chapter 16

I. Chapter Sixteen

The Nathan James was an ants' nest. Even the marines who were on break were milling about. Alviarin was quickly put to work beside Lt. Chung. The sonar bang had upset a lot of the more sensitive equipment. After a while, nobody could have said how much time had passed, the young woman was sent to the upper layers of the ship to check on some responses. She used the walkway along the outside of the upper deck, and just before she would have entered on the other side, her brain finished processing the information eyes, ears and intuition were delivering, and she whirled around, reaching for the com beside the entrance.

"Tsunami! Tsunami!"

The wall of water racing toward the ship was hypnotising, and it took the Captain's appearance at the little window in the door to shake her awake.

Alviarin Rykers could still feel the heat in her cheeks from the Captain's words. She realised she had built not only a wall of reticence around herself at the surprising suspicions the last days had brought, but she also had not expected to be offered this sudden gift of the tall man's trust – and the use of his first name. What had brought this about? While there were a lot of questions unanswered, still, she felt light as a balloon. She grimaced at herself – she did have a bit of an issue with authority figures. Why would it be so weird to call him by his given name – to his face!

It surprised the young woman that she had a second visitor, only a few minutes after the Captain had left. The knock on the doorframe pulled her out of her circling thoughts and she looked up to see the tall dark-haired stranger known to her only by sight leaning against it.

"Evening."

"Hi?"

"Ok if I come in?"

"Sure." He had a funny accent. She stored the information automatically: rather tall, broad shouldered, muscular, but not overly so. He moved like a big cat, all grace and lazy elegance.

"We haven't met yet. Wolf Taylor."

A shiver ran down her back. She tried to sit up, but the blinding pain in her chest reminded her not to move. "Alviarin Rykers. I'm sorry I can't…" But even that was too much. Black clouds hovered at the edge of her vision.

"Please, Miss Rykers, don't move. I can imagine what that rope did to you."

She took a deep breath, a frown forming. She met the dark eyes curiously.

"Your name is Wolf?"

Taylor motioned at a chair, and at her slight smile pulled it closer and sat down. "Yes, and yours is rather unconventional." His smile was engaging.

She tilted her head, unable to keep from smiling back.

"You have a funny accent."

"Australian. You have none at all."

Another bit of information stored. "That's why you're here?"

He chuckled. "No. I'm here because I watched your demonstration this sun-up"- she grimaced and involuntarily clenched her hands - "and because you reached the com before my brain connected the dots. And because you are still alive after that stunt you pulled."

Alviarin felt the heat return to her cheeks. Compliments were not what she had expected. "Oh."

"If I'm not being too forward – who trained you? You're neither military nor navy? The crew told me very little about you, kept insisting they didn't know much themselves."

"Probably because they don't…" The captain knew a lot, it seemed. How much had she told him? "I was born in Banff in the Rocky Mountains, then moved to a more remote part of Alaska. I lived in the wilderness up to the age of fourteen. After my father's death I spent the next few years being home-schooled and brought up to speed while traveling the world. My youngest uncle was Dr Michael Rykers, who knew Dr Scott, and he offered to finance a university education."

"At Calgary?"

"Yes."

"The only place you could find with enough wilderness around? Why mathematics?" His eyes, while inquisitive, were sympathetic.

"Math appealed to me on several levels: The logic, universality, the cold hard truth of it. And I was a nerd within nerds…"

"Right. So then I kind of get the climbing thing – that's first rate wilderness survival training. You're stronger than you look. But the seaquake – recognizing the Tsunami? And the thing with the rope? I still can't quite fathom how exactly you managed that?"

"You're navy?"

"How'd you figure?"

Alviarin shrugged. "Intuition – the way you say seaquake."

"Really, Miss Rykers."

"I learned the rope technique during cave climbing. And the Tsunami – anyone would have picked that up had they looked out at the right moment. I just happened to be there."

Wolf Taylor leaned back and pushed a hand through the dark curls. "I tend to disagree. Cave Climbing?"

"There can be sudden flooding, in caves that carry water. If it doesn't last too long, you can hold on."

"Show me once you can move again?"

"Sure." It came out drier than she'd wanted. "So then who or what are you? Australian Navy, that much you told me. Martial arts or hand to hand combat?"

"Senior Chief Petty Officer, formerly of the _Royal_ Australian Navy. Both. Did you ask around?"

Alviarin shook her head tiredly. "The way you move, SCPO Taylor."

"Can we lose the titles? Everyone calls me Wolf, or Wolfman by now."

The young woman smiled, glad for the second offer. "Right, Wolfman. So are you joining the team on land tomorrow?"

"Yes." The dark eyes considered her for a long moment. "You got a thing about wolves?"

Alviarin hung her head, feeling the cold creep up her arms. The question had been gentle, but she was not ready to trust this stranger this far. "How do you figure?"

"I'm sorry, Miss. I shouldn't have said that."

She met his glance with ironically lifted eyebrows. "You wanted to lose the titles."

"Right, Alviarin. Your reaction earlier when I mentioned my name, Alaska, and just now saying it out loud – something seems to bother you."

Sudden tears threatened, and she rubbed her hands over her face. "Maybe that's a story for another day."

The Australian stood soundlessly, and looked down at her calmly. "This was very interesting, I hope we can continue to talk. Alviarin Rykers."

She offered him a thoughtful smile, and replied: "Wish you the best of luck and success on land – and come back whole! – All of you…" she added as an afterthought, sobering suddenly. Chandler would be going, too.

The Australian nodded thanks and turned to leave. In the door he turned to look back over his shoulder. "You need a nickname, Alviarin. I'll get you one. Get well quickly." With a wink he vanished.

Despite herself the young woman smiled.

Captain Chandler had just left the President in the capable hands of CMC Jeter, and sent Rachel Scott to talk to Sorensen. He was dead tired, his mind felt like a dark swamp where he was wading through despair and frustration. He needed air, he needed the sea. It was still early enough that his favourite spot on deck would be empty.

But even though he had meant to be alone before the duties would call him back, he found himself changing direction to where a gentle movement had alerted him to a lanky presence.

"Good Morning."

The young woman turned. The smile she gave him was radiant. "Captain! Good to have you back safe and sound."

She was a sight for sore eyes. He leaned against the railing, returning her smile involuntarily. "You're better?"

"Yes, thank you."

He could still feel the "Sir" hovering at the end of her sentences. A thought formed, and he voiced it before the gaze between them could last too long.

"Tell me how it happened for you… the outbreak."

"Oh Sir," a quick glance around, "Tom, you just looked down some of the darkest holes in the jungle that is human society, and you want to hear more?"

He met her eyes with a slight frown.

"Danny told us some. From the way you look your night with the president was not easy."

Chandler allowed himself to bury his face in his hands for a long moment. Again, she hit rather close to the point.

"No, it was not easy." He sketched out a few things that had gone down during the last hours.

Alviarin listened calmly, head bent over the metal bar. "And the crew can't know." Her voice was quiet, calming.

"No, they can't. They – we – I – need this president to be somebody to lead, to trust." He stopped there. "So do you understand why I need to hear another side of the story?"

"Your family – your wife… you went through it with them."

 _Oh God, Darien_. "They fled to the mountains. They did get sick." _Half an hour earlier, half an hour later… And Sorensen walking and breathing on his ship._

She seemed to read his thoughts, slowly taking a breath. "I was in Calgary when it started. News came fast at first. The flu spreading outward from congregation centres like airport, train station. It was textbook. Uncle Michael – the immunologist – called me, told me to stay away from people, to come down to Baltimore any way I could. Told me it was happening all over the world." She took another slow breath. "I called as many of my friends and acquaintances as I could. Some of the natives had already shut themselves off from the world, told me I could join them."

"Why didn't you?"

She grimaced. "Many reasons. I could carry infection to them. But mostly, I could not run away from what was happening."

"No boyfriend?"

"No. I had a couple of friends who were slightly paranoid to begin with – they had gotten some people together and were fleeing toward the mountains. They took me with them into the Rockies. From there I hiked to Missoula, Montana. The whole town was lost. Racoons and rats everywhere. Phones were down."

Chandler had turned toward the young woman at some point, watching the memories play on the expressive, clear-cut features. The grey eyes were haunted, but calm.

"I loaded a car with food, drove to Salt Lake City. That's about where I realised I was not susceptible to the sickness."

"How?"

The deep voice grew even more quiet. "I stayed off the main roads. Somewhere near McConaughy Lake was a small cottage. There was smoke coming from the chimney. I stopped, knocked. No answer, but there was a slight noise. Door was open. I stepped inside, to find a young mother and her three kids – dead except for the baby. I could not turn back. The child was sick, and would be dead within an hour. I took her into my arms and rocked her until she fell asleep. Thankfully she slipped quietly." Alviarin swallowed, hung her head.

"You were not scared of infection?"

"By then, at that moment, I did not care any more. I had seen so much – healthy people fighting, fleeing, threatening, sick people desolate, angry, fearful… That child bothered me more than any of the others, dying there alone. What was my place in all this? You must understand, I had been hiking alone for ten days, then driven through the northern states for another two, and not spoken to more than a few. I was as lost as that baby. And if I should die for giving that tiny soul comfort, then so be it."

Her hands - the slender, long fingers had healed finally – were gripping the railing hard. Chandler reached over and covered one of them with his own for a moment.

"But you didn't."

"But I didn't." she repeated his words quietly.

"What were you thinking after this realisation?"

A sad smile hushed over the pale face. "You're asking if I ever thought it might be destiny, or the great Manitou's will? Yes, I spent long months with spiritual, close to nature cultures with deep-seated religious beliefs. But even before that I had an analytical mind. It is impossible for me to believe in anything that … religion-related. I know something about immunology, about statistics, medicine." She rolled her shoulders. "That knowledge, that it was a plague, something to be fought, gave me strength. If I was immune, I could help, I could _do_ something. I did not need to run."

"So you're saying that knowledge, and analysis, saved you from becoming or following a fanatic like Ramsey?"

She shivered. "I don't think I have it in me to be a fanatic, but yes. A guy like Ramsey will appeal to someone who is looking to be lead, to be comforted, to be given hope. To be distracted from their own shortcomings."

"That's a bit harsh?" He felt himself forced to comment. She did not even know half of what had gone down in that camp. "Ramsey kept the people uninformed…"

She met his glance openly, without challenge. "Yes, but they chose to blindly follow him. Concerning religion, I am a follower of Bertrand Russell. Reason and Science. I was raised abroad, so information gathering was a self-evident necessity. If you are content with being told what to believe, then you've given up on your free will."

For a moment he stood spellbound. Then another question slipped over his lips: "How old are you?"

"I turned twenty-seven a few months ago."

"You seem both much younger, and much older. How old were you when your father died?"

"Fifteen."

"And until he brought you out of the woods…? Who were you living with?" His memory showed him the darkness hovering around the edges of his consciousness, the pain in his eyes, her cool fingers in his hand, the deep voice his anchor to reality.

"With the wolves at first, and later with the Chipewyan." Her voice conveyed gentle bafflement.

"Ah, Alviarin, there is something I haven't told you…" then the realisation of her words hit. "Wait, you lived alone in the woods of Canada up to the age of fifteen?"

There was a pause. "I thought I had told you…"

Chandler saw navy figures coming towards him from the corner of his eyes. "You might have. My memory of the days on the island is still playing hard to catch." He stored the information in the corner of his mind reserved for the quiet elf. "Thank you for sharing your story." He felt somehow lighter after talking to the young woman.

He nodded at the approaching marines and turned back to her. And frowned: The grey eyes were huge, her whole being radiated consternation. "What is it?"

"Your memory…?" her voice was toneless.

"The concussion muddled my memory of the time on the island until I woke on the _Nathan James_." He checked on the oncoming group – they were waiting respectfully out of earshot. "Up to the moment I saw you climbing the flank"- he motioned behind him – "I had no memory at all since the fall."

She swallowed, turning away from him.

"Anyway, you should talk to Dr Scott."

She regarded him with an unreadable expression and a slight tilt to her head. "Yes?"

"We've got a prisoner. Rachel hopes to achieve a break-through with the virus production. You should be free of the needles."

"Oh!"

He nodded at her and turned to face the waiting crew, the load on his shoulders lightened.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter seventeen

Hands full of tools, Alviarin turned the corner and almost bumped into Rachel Scott, leaning against the wall.

"Dr Scott! Rachel, are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"You're pale as a sheet. Can I call someone? Get you something?"

"You're sweet, but it is nothing."

But the young woman refused to move, hovering uncertainly. A quick glance around told her where they were. "You've been talking to Sorensen."

Rachel looked up, surprised by the singular cold that suddenly emanated from who she still sometimes fondly thought of as her charge. "I have to talk to him, he engineered…"

"… the virus, and set the plague loose on mankind. I know. I don't envy you. As I told you before, if there's ever anything I can do to help, just look at me."

That brought a wry grimace to the doctor's face. "I don't want you anywhere near him. Not only for medical reasons, you are too young and too naïve to be poisoned by him."

"What is going to happen to him?"

"He's our prisoner, and I get to try and pull important information out of his nose." Her fury, frustration and anger at this man's live presence on what she thought of as her ship was making it hard to breath at times. Something in her face betrayed her, even though she'd tried to keep it as non-committal as possible.

Alviarin frowned, taking a breath. "And to get there, you do things you'd rather not even consider. Come take some air with me." She dropped the tools she'd been carrying and reached for the other woman's arm carefully. "How are your aides getting along?"

Rachel let herself be pulled along, grateful for the support. But she was not ready to let the girl's words go. "I feel dirty after talking to him."

Alviarin glanced at her sideways, an elfin glint to her eyes. "That will pass quickly I suspect, if you get results."

While very much to the point, that stung a little. "While you may be correct, that doesn't make me a very good person."

"Ah, Dr Scott, but you are a scientist first and foremost, the saviour of mankind." The young woman commented quietly.

"So is he. Scientist, I mean."

"I assume _he_ being Sorensen. He set out for fame and glory, and kept going. He's an egomaniac without a soul."

"Aren't you poetic today! Thank you for the vote of confidence. How are you, by the way? The ribs?"

"Much better, thank you. I wanted very much to join the landing crew, but the other Doc told the Captain I was not fit yet."

Rachel had to smile at the disgruntled tone.

"Have you talked to the president yet?"

"No."

The doctor frowned. "I'd think you might give him something to relate – being immune yourself, and having survived on land, too?"

Alviarin hesitated, a grimace twisting her features. "If the situation arises, I won't run away."

Rachel stared at the young woman. "Shy again? You're a weird creature!"

That brought a laugh – the first she'd heard from her. Rachel noted with a secret smile how many of the male crew turned at the melodic sound – including Lt Chung, who had come to look for his new engineer.

Alviarin smiled at him, then nodded a farewell to the doctor. "Yes, coming, Lieutenant. Sorry, this seemed important."

Rachel followed them with her gaze, as they walked back into the belly of the ship, joking and bumping elbows. Then she turned back to the horizon, considering the moment with the swede and its repercussions.

Alviarin had taken up her usual morning routine with her stave again, despite the lingering pain in her ribs. But the exercise gave her back her suppleness and agility, and some free time away from the dense quarters of the ship.

She enjoyed working with the engineers, the phones of the immunes presented quite a challenge. She grimaced, remembering her discussion with Andy Chung after they'd figured out that none of the go-to ideas were acceptable. Alisha Granderson was another smart one, they'd have another shot at the phones today. There was work waiting.

She slipped out of her shoes and put the blindfold on.

Going through the familiar motions, she slipped into the trance while sweat started forming between her shoulder blades. This early in the morning, she had never met another soul except the Captain. Somewhere deep down she admitted to herself that one of the reasons to be out here so early in her recovery was that he might choose to come up, and they'd have another "removed from reality" conversation. He'd seemed so weighed down the last time they had talked about the president and the immune cult. The revelation that he had not remembered anything about the days on the island had shaken her to the core, but also relieved her immensely. It cleared up the scenes with the XO and Stephen Waters, and it gave her quite the satisfaction that she had fought successfully for herself without the backing of the captain. It also gave a different meaning to the short conversations they had had since then. She did not think of the kiss often, nor did she give into dreaming – that had never been in her character. Captain Chandler had not been himself on the island, and he did not remember everything that had happened there. So she'd cherish the memory, and live with it.

A small sound of shock was dragged from her when her staff suddenly met obstruction – had she lost herself and misjudged her range? But no, said obstruction moved and guided her into automatically fending off an unseen attacker. Adrenalin running high, it took her a moment to regain her senses, then she pushed off whoever had interrupted her with a quick forward attack, and stepped back to pull off the headband.

It was the Australian, Wolfman. He was not quit grinning as he came at her with a staff about the same length as hers, but there was heat and humour in his features. He did not give her time to catch her breath, but she found his movements relatively easy to predict and countered with ease.

"Morning, Elf."

Her eyes narrowed, she was thrown back momentarily to the moment the Captain had asked for her name. She stumbled a little, but caught herself quickly.

"Elf?"

"I've been watching you for the last ten minutes, and I think it fits, mysterious island story and all." His intonation was quick and soft, it took her a moment to catch his meaning.

"You found me a nickname?"

"Indeed." He quickened his attack, and she let him drive her back a few steps.

"What if I don't like it?"

Sure of his victory, he kept pressing her. "As much as I know of the navy, you're stuck with it if crew takes to it. At least down under it's like that."

She had to grin at his surety. With a few quick, vicious moves, she robbed him of his balance and pulled his legs out from under him. He fell and rolled elegantly over his shoulder.

"Why did you surprise me?" she asked, stepping back.

"Holy crap, girl, you're good." Respect coloured his words. "Go again?"

"If you promise not to hold back?" she sneered with a smile.

They touched staves, and started again, a furious tock-tock-tock testifying to the speed and agility of both fighters.

Wolfman felt the need to respond to that last question. "It's been a while since I had a versatile opponent, and watching you go through the motions just now made my fingers itch." And his heart beat faster. "You're incredibly fast. What school is this?"

Not that again. "My own."

"Really, Miss Rykers?"

She grinned at the tone. Both were breathing faster, both read in the other's face the elation of a worthy opponent. "The staff has been my weapon of choice and convenience since I was a child. Later I tried the Palo Canario-"

Wolfman nodded, the art of fighting similar to the national sport of the Canary islands was what he had trained.

"- and combined it to my own style. Do you do the short staffs too?"

"Yes, but I prefer the single short staff – I like the hands-on-methods more."

Alviarin nodded – it suited the other man better. She preferred to keep some distance between herself and her attacker.

Finally they were both sweaty and breathing heavily, and Wolfman ended the fight with a brute force attack that had the young woman flying over his shoulder. She rolled automatically and stood, stave at defence.

The Australian let his stave sink and held out a hand to the young woman, breathing hard. "Good fight, Elf."

Reading the respectful reserve in his bearing, Alviarin gripped his hand shortly and nodded, returning his smile. "Good fight, Wolfman."

Both turned toward the railing, stretching out the warm muscles.

"I saw you talking to that youngster the Captain brought back. He looked after you somewhere between thunderstruck and lovesick. What'd you tell him?"

Alviarin grinned and frowned in quick succession. "Just that he had a purpose looking after his friends – I mean he is their leader. What would they do if he got his wish and signed on half a year early. We talked a bit. He was shaken, understandably, and looked up to the Captain like his personal hero." _Equally understandably._ "I think he's gonna be OK."

Wolf grimaced. The dry tone this Elf used was somewhat perplexing. He wanted to know more of her background. "They're kids playing at war. What baffled me that he completely missed the honour of the badge. I mean he wants to be a soldier…"

She met his eyes with amused apprehension. "I wouldn't understand it, either. I think you have to know a lot about the military or navy to know about the deeper meaning of the exchange."

"All right, accepted." He grinned at her. "Heard about Sorensen yet?"

 _The creepy swede?_ "No, what about him?"

Wolf almost startled at her tone. "He's dead."

"What?"

"I only just heard. Seems to have been a reaction to one of the IV's."

"But he was better! Walking, helping in the lab…" Alviarin turned away from the Australian, unable to control her features. She felt like a stone had been dropped into her stomach. This was no coincidence. _Rachel, what have you done?_

She'd managed to disguise the shock behind another stretch, and a sudden deep twinge in her ribs helped even further. She doubled over, holding her chest, catching her breath. Wolfman's broad hand touched her shoulder carefully.

"All right?"

She managed a friendly grimace. "Yeah, thanks. Should have been a little more careful."

She slipped into her shoes. "I need to get back, there are those stupid phones to unravel."

"Care to do this again? Early morning is not really my thing, but I'd love to spar with you."

To her surprise her answer was easy and true: "Same here. I'd like that. See you around, Wolfman."

"Good luck with the phones, Elf."

He followed the lithe creature with his gaze. He'd never seen anybody move with her suppleness and velocity. A slight movement alerted him to a darker, tall figure higher up on the ship's bow. Captain Chandler was standing against the railing a few stories above him. Their eyes met, and both men nodded a greeting. For a moment the SCPO wondered how long the Captain had stood there, and if he'd have heard what they'd been talking.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter eighteen

 **AN:** _Reworked (second part…). I feel better about this now, still might come back to it. Thanks for the constructive criticism, love the feedback._

Alviarin was ranging through the _Nathan James_ like the ghost she had been in the first few weeks of her stay. The engineers and the group of tech-savvy guys and gals had made the breakthrough on the phones and were now demonstrating and discussing the Bluetooth use of the game app. This was nothing she could contribute to, so she'd asked Andy Chung to release her.

Where was Chief Engineer Garrett? What was going on with Rachel Scott? How much did the Captain know or suspect? Where would they go from here? How much would even come to light?

Two questions were answered within twenty minutes of her stroll through the ship. The death of Niels Sorensen was being investigated, and rumours were flying. Rachel Scott had done it, for obvious reasons. Bertrise had done it, because the swede had made a move on her.

Good lord, how ridiculous these things got. What worried Alviarin was that she heard one or two voices questioning the integrity of the captain – had he or the weird new president given the order?

Nobody questioned the fact that Sorensen had been murdered. The redhead who's name she never managed to remember had made sure of that – without any bad intentions, she'd give him that much, but he wasn't the most farsighted one.

More than once she had seen the Captain, but for no reason she could name – yet – she had hidden from him, either feigning an errand and changing direction, or moving out of his eyesight before he could spot her. Not that he would address her, she didn't think, but she was not ready to talk to him, to give up any thought she was not ready to discuss. Her face had gotten her into trouble more than once.

Finally she ran into the tall blond chief engineer. Andrea Garrett was leaving the washroom, but at a leisurely pace, so Alviarin had no qualms about approaching her.

"Ah, Elf. How is it going with the phones?" The older woman tried to keep her tone light.

"That nickname sure made it's round quickly. The issue with the phones has been solved, Ma'am. Bluetooth."

"Right." Garrett nodded, clearly only marginally interested.

"Where were you?" the question came out rather abruptly. Alviarin tried to backpedal. "The phone app was I think demonstrated an hour ago."

"What time is it?"

"Just after eighteen hours."

"Really? Today passed in a blur."

"Chief Engineer, are you all right?"

"Yes. No. It's no secret that I headed the investigation into the creep's death."

Ah, so that was why she'd been missing from the engineers work. "I didn't know. How is it going? Can you talk to me?"

Garrett stared at the younger woman for a long while, something wild in her eyes. "Come outside with me?"

They stood outside the door in the mild evening air, quiet for a long moment. "I just informed the captain and the XO that the only reasonable hypothesis is that Dr Scott exchanged the last IV given to Sorensen for something lethal."

Alviarin did not have to force her grimace. "Good Lord."

"Captain is I think confronting her about now. Crew will be informed shortly."

"Rumours have been running high for the afternoon."

Garrett barked a bitter laugh. "Yeah, rumours are worse than torpedoes on a ship like this."

"Why you? I mean no disrespect or questioning you, but you're Chief Engineer. Is this something I can't understand because I'm not navy?"

The blond woman smiled fondly at her darker haired counterpart. "Nah, I think it was because I had the least interaction of all the officers with Dr Scott. Impartiality and all that."

"Right." It kind of made sense, Alviarin supposed. "Still, can't have been easy."

"Shouldn't be, right?"

"The evidence leaves no holes?" It was too much to hope…

"No. It's the only thing that makes sense. She stepped out with the IV. She was the last to handle it. She connected it to him. Miller said she didn't seem to do anything to help him."

 _Who would have?_ But Alviarin kept the thought to herself.

"What is going to happen to her?"

"That's up to the Captain."

Alviarin watched the chief engineer alertly, waiting for her to continue. Her mind was racing, trying to understand the dynamic such an occurrence would bring into a crew built after a strict hierarchy. Chandler was jury, judge and god if need be, and he'd know how his people would react. He had to take the new president into consideration – maybe even consult him. How many real friends did the doctor have here? Tex, the new doctor from the _Solace,_ Doc Rios maybe. Would any of them stand up to whatever jury would convene? Had they any chance?

"Has anything like this happened before?" She finally asked, when the other woman would not offer any more information.

"Not during my service."

Alviarin watched Rachel Scott being escorted back into her cabin, watched the escort take up position in front of her door. Thoughts were chasing themselves in her head. It was very late, the ship was running on night crew, the torpedo's hit had not managed to break the hull. But the sonar was disabled, and they were hiding from the sub. And half of the remaining population of the continent would shoot them on sight. The premise was troubling.

But the young woman had something else on her mind. She squared her shoulders and walked up to her former guard with decisive movement.

"Stephen, got guard duty again?"

"Hello, Elf!"

Alviarin smiled. "The Australian sure got around."

"Oh, he just hit the nail on the head. If it fits, don't change it! What's up?"

"I need to talk to her."

"Ah, I can't. Strict orders, no interaction with the crew."

"Yes, but see, I am not crew."

"Miss, Elf, you got me in trouble before…"

"I did?" she frowned, momentarily distracted.

"When you not only told me I was the XO's man, but tore my friendly curious legend to shreds."

"Oh dear, I am sorry." She let friendly sarcasm pour from her voice. "I am hard to deceive."

"Yeah, how come?"

"Are you trying to distract me until somebody comes along?"

"Only a little." The sergeant shook his head in defeat. "But I'd really like to know. I've been told my persona is quite solid."

"If I tell you, will you let me in?"

"Elf, I really couldn't. Not after everything that's gone down…"

"Stephen, search me. Seriously. I am no threat, I don't mean to hit you over the head, nor her, I just want to talk to her. Look at me. You too are good at reading people."

That took the wind out of the other's defence, and he shrugged. "Only a few minutes, and maybe give me a slight warning when you are done. Shouldn't be seen."

He opened the door after knocking and receiving a small angry sound in answer.

Alviarin slipped inside and faced the doctor. The other woman was pale, the well-known stubborn set to her chin, lips pressed slightly together. The narrow face displayed honest surprise when she registered her visitor.

"Miss Rykers! What are you doing here?"

Involuntarily the young woman smiled. "I've got a nickname. The Australian gave it to me. Please stop calling me Miss Rykers. I'm Elf, to everybody, it seems."

Bemusement coloured the doctor's features. "That's why you're here?"

"No, just an icebreaker. Rachel, what happened? Are you ok? Can I do anything?"

After a slow double take, Rachel Scott started pacing the short distance like a caged bird, hands moving without the usual energy behind them.

"You know what happened. You know what I did."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? You know who he was, what he did! You yourself called him a soulless egomaniac! I needed his tissue to make the airborne cure. He deserved to die. I still think it didn't take him long enough. He should have suffered at least like the others suffered."

"And now?" Alviarin pitched her voice so low, it hardly registered with the other woman.

"Now the Captain treats me like a criminal. I am allowed no contact with anybody, and get to leave this cabin only to work in the lab. He should be thanking me for ridding the world of a threat and a creep. He's so set on those regulations of his he can't see that it was the right thing to do!"

"Rachel-" the girl tried to interrupt.

"He'll uphold what he's sworn to do – tradition, routine, codes." She cried out her pure frustration and anger in a feral sound.

Alviarin stood, moving slowly. "Rachel. Can't you see his side? He had no choice!"

"Of course he had a choice! He could choose to take off the blinkers! To think out of the box! To admit that I did what anybody would have done in my shoes!"

"You're upset. That's quite understandable. But you are going a bit overboard."

" _He_ 'll hand me over to authorities at the first chance! You get what I did, why I did it!"

"Yes. I do. Rachel, he'd spring you from prison at the first chance, but here, in front of his crew and the new president…"

There was a knock on the door, and Stephen stuck his head in.

"Sorry, Elf, you've got to vanish right now. I'm being released in a minute."

Alviarin turned back to the doctor, grabbed both her hands quickly in a secure hold and whispered: "Get some sleep. I'll try to be back." Then she left without losing a moment more.

Stephen caught up to her after his replacement had taken over.

"Wait, you still owe me an answer!" the tone of his voice betrayed the burning curiosity. What had the two women talked about? Did the lanky Elf side with the doctor in this?

Alviarin blinked, pushing the agitation deep down. "What was the question?"

"Why you're so hard to deceive…"

"Oh, that." She halted and turned to the dark-haired sergeant. "I _worked_ with wolves and moose for six years, when I was more or less a child, still. Then with Native Americans, who's culture is such that they have almost no need for lies, but who taught me to read humans like the animals I could already talk to." She hesitated, aware that this was shaky ground. She still had trouble trusting Stephen fully. "And I have an uncle who is a specialist on human behavior, body language, intonation, and the darkness of the human psyche." She grimaced at the baffled look on the other's face.

"Wow. I'll warn the XO not to send me after you again. That's quite the CV." Stephen turned slightly, motioning her to walk ahead. "Walk with me?"

This time she had her answer ready. "Thanks, but I'll turn in. Today has been rather crazy."

"Agreed." Slight regret colored his tone. "Well, maybe another time. Good night!"

"G'Night, Stephen. And thanks."

Turning in? She almost laughed at herself. She had had to learn quickly to lie with half-truths. But gods, how screwed up was the situation with Rachel Scott and the Captain? She hung her head the rest of the way until she was outside on the walkway, unwilling to meet inquisitive eyes. Despite the hour, there was some traffic. Even her usual spot on the deck was taken – right, the sub. She shivered. That too weighed in on Sorensen's death. With Patient Zero gone, they'd have an even harder time to persuade people of their good intentions. If it was true that the population held on to the belief that the red flu was engineered by the government, they were running straight into Ramsey's arms. And became a serious enemy to the _Nathan James._ Did Sorensen's horrors pale in the face of Ramsey killing innocents just for the sake of pushing another brick in the path of the navy destroyer? How could he be so certain the ruse would work? Was she naïve to think that people on land would see what a bad fake the video was?

Hiding from the crew still on deck, she climbed up quietly, until she found a spot half hidden from down below.

And not much left above her. This was breath-taking – the clear night skies above her, the Milky Way a murky sparkling band. She sat down and leaned back, head tilted upwards, wrists resting on her knees.

Now she could turn to analyzing the last minutes. How cold the doctor had been. She'd known Dr Scott had that streak in her, but to watch another human being die and wish for a longer fight… She had gone behind the Captain's back, even sent him on what could be seen as a bogus mission. But how could Chandler disregard what she had accomplished so far? How deeply personal this had gotten for her? Alviarin admitted to herself that the way the Swede had died had something symmetric to it. She let the day pass before her eyes, fighting the dismay washing through her.

_

Captain Tom Chandler returned from inspecting the site of the torpedo impact. The sonar was down for good, other less debilitating damage could either be repaired, or would wait until they reached a secure haven. He felt the eyes of the crew on him keenly. Nerves were still raw from both the outcome of the investigation into Sorensen's death, and his reaction to it, and the destruction of the New Orleans fleet. He held on to his usual stoic demeanor, settled deep in his bones. But he knew he would get no sleep if he retired now. The short conversation with Dr Scott after going through everything Mike had told him was still festering, and the fact that they were virtually blind and running from the bloody sub did not help. He had thought to get a quick workout in, but the gym had still been too crowded for his liking. So he stepped outside, exchanging nods here and there. The last stragglers were leaving the deck, he'd be alone shortly.

His thoughts turned back to Alviarin Rykers. He remembered the few instances he had seen her today, the grey eyes clouded, questioning. He felt bad for her, she had been Dr Scott's charge and friend. How would the outcome of today affect her? She could not possibly understand how important the regulations on a ship like the _Nathan James_ were, how necessary the stability of the structures and strict following of the codes and rules were. Still, he would have liked to talk to her.

A small voice in the back of his head clarified that he did not want her to think ill of him – not that he had anything to explain, but he would miss the easy, trusting conversations that had been so unique to her presence.

He wanted to keep that atmosphere between them two, he wanted to know more about her, clarify the few things left open from their time on the island. He was aware he sometimes spoke too freely with her, but she made it easy. He had not given much thought to the why of it, but he enjoyed the time-outs the grey eyes presented. After she had put herself in harms way to save his life - _twice_ \- he had discarded his earlier rejection of her with ease.

Ah, but how badly would the wise naiveté clash with the harsh realities of today? Anger rose as his thoughts returned to the doctor.

Impatient and restless he climbed the ladder to the small alcove automatically in the starlight, his movements sure and soundless.

He was not overly surprised to recognize the slender figure leaning against the wall. He startled her quite badly, and she stumbled to her feet. The starlight was fully in her face. What did take him aback was the way the dark eyes regarded him – gone was the usual glow, the way a smile lurked ready. Instead she gazed at him wearily, with a calm detached query where he had become used to see alert confidence – _in him -_ instead.

He felt his captain persona settle back around him, his brow furrowing. He should have turned around instead of climbing up here. It was not a conscious decision to stand so his face would rest in the shadow, but it suited him well. She made him vulnerable. He did not follow this train of thought, instead gazed down on her calmly.

Their gaze held for a long moment, then the words came unbidden, his tone somewhat harsh.

"It's very late. What are you doing out here still?"

She swallowed. "I was not ready to retire."

"The investigation? Or the Torpedo?" he prompted, tension rising.

She squared her shoulders unconsciously, threw him a quick glance, something unreadable hushing over her features. "The murder, you mean." She did not even seem to consider his other suggestion.

Anger rose to the surface. Yes, the murder. "The navy has strict codes how to deal with something like what Dr Scott did. It can be hard to understand for a civilian."

That evoked a grimace, portraying pain, weariness, anger, frustration – _now_ he could read her face like an open book, the way she wrapped her arms around her body underlining the emotions surging through her.

"A pardon can be offered to an immune child-killer, but not to the scientist who found the cure?" Alviarin hung her head, bit her lip and added quietly: "Ah, that was a childish thing to say. I apologize."

Chandler felt heat rise up his back. He would have liked to tell her that it was none of her concern – but the doctor was who had brought her on the ship, had been her main person for the first months, of course it concerned her. "What Dr Scott did was inexcusable."

The young woman took a step closer. "But it was also understandable!"

Against the white skin of her throat, her heartbeat was a visible pulse, like a butterfly wing fluttering. The dark eyes stared up at him, bottomless pools of calm unhappiness.

The Captain turned abruptly away, gripping the railing with both hands. Those eyes would tear his defenses to shreds if he was not careful. He was surprised by the sudden hot lance of pure physical attraction he had felt for the slender elf.

Her words grated – she could understand the doctor's actions?

"Dr Scott acted out of vengeance and anger, disregarding any foresight or consideration. She went behind my back, knowingly destroying every ounce of trust that had resulted from the previous journey. The crew…" He swallowed, the fury and the disappointment acute.

Alviarin had moved to his side at some point during his quiet tirade, turned toward him, hands still gripping her forearms. She drew a shaky breath. "She did what most anybody would have liked to do."

What threw him was that she was still so calm, so composed. If not for that flutter of her heartbeat, you'd think she was talking about the weather. He turned his head, let the full weight of his gaze rest on her, somewhat pleased when she flinched minutely.

"She told me to my face that she did not need to kill him." The elf did not need to know that she had wanted to prolong his death. "She could have done a biopsy and we could have given the immunes and the American population the face of the red flu. We could have turned this situation around that's now throwing us back." He should stop talking now, Chandler thought dimly. Why was he explaining himself?

Her voice shook a little. "There was a poetic justice to his death. She's a women, a scientist, and this had become personal to her! Maybe not honorable, but she was not dealing with an honorable guy!"

That made him turn around. She was not seeing the bigger picture. "The danger of the crew believing his murder had been ordered…"

Here she interrupted him with the first show of her reserve breaking. "I heard the crew speculating, losing trust, when they were just beginning to take to this new president. I get that what you finally offered her was a compromise already." The deep voice was rough.

Something – the sudden plea in her tone – made him remember this morning. _Had it really been this morning? Sun rising on two figures dancing, sparring, bending, weaving with unparalleled elegance, amused voices, until the Australian dropped the news…_

"I watched you with Taylor in the morning. You knew it was Dr Scott before there was an investigation. How?" He challenged her almost brutally. "How did you know?"

Wide eyes searching his face in the darkness, agony hushed over her features. She shrugged. "Purely female instinct."

 _Truth._ She had also just handed him the weapon to tear down her defenses. His eyes narrowing, he leaned back with deceptive nonchalance. "You seem rather calm for showing so much empathy for the doctor."

Her face, never meant to be a mask, cracked. Betraying all her horribly interweaving emotions quite clearly, the young woman gripped the railing helplessly and whispered:

"Calm? It's tearing me apart! I understand both sides, can't you see that? I get her, she's a scientist and a woman! She watched her mentor be torn apart by bullets essentially fired by this guy, she helplessly watched children killed essentially by this guy. He deserved every bit!

 _But you_ ' _re_ the reason this ship is still running, the reason people get to hope! She wouldn't be here without you! The ship can't work without rules, codes, law, without a clear guideline for the crew! I heard them, the unrest, the uncertainty! You see the big pictures, and you're the one everybody looks up to. You carry the consequences – for all of them.

But… to need these rules, to need this differentiation… I mean we – you - have a common enemy, and to have this happen – to have to treat her thus after everything she has accomplished?" She was shivering like a leaf by the time she had exhausted her breath.

Her words had branded against and over the Captain. Chandler stared at her in dismay, realizing that in forcing her to speak her mind, he had opened himself up to her even more. "Come here, Elf." He reached out, caught her cold hand and pulled her toward him in one swift move. She came into his arms with a little stumble, and gave herself over to the embrace with sudden, absolute surrender. One arm wrapped tight around the slender shaking figure, Chandler found his hand burying into her hair, feeling her scalp warm and soft under his fingers. He felt her long-fingered hand acutely on his back, just under his shoulder-blade. Her face was buried against his chest, emanating warmth.

Trying in vain to sort through what had just happened, the captain held the young woman against him, filled with an exhilaration that surprised him.

Her perception of the dynamics on the _Nathan James_ was remarkable. She did not judge, just tried to sort through the warring factions, seeing their strengths and weaknesses.

He did not notice the calm creep up on him in the same degree that her body relaxed against his. After a long while he lifted his face from her hair, growing aware of the night-silent ship underneath them. Alviarin moved in the same moment, gently pulling away from him.

He let her go with regret and relief in equal measures, reading the same in the shy smile she gave him. Her eyes were glowing again, filled with something like wonder.

"Explain the female instinct to me?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully and answered quietly: "She let Sorensen think he'd have a chance with her, made him think she appreciated him. He told her what she wanted from him. It made her feel sick."

Now it was his turn to frown thoughtfully down at her. She broke eye-contact, gazing over his shoulder. "I think she does not get how much she forced your hand."

Something in her expression made him glare at her. "You talked to her? I ordered no contact…" he trailed off, saw a shiver run through her.

"… with the crew. I'm not crew, Captain Chandler."

Her voice, half steel, half shy, had an undercurrent to it that made the heat rise into his face. His eyes were drawn to where he could see the pulse at the base of her neck. "Don't do this. Don't go behind my back." _Not you._

"I won't." her voice was breathless. "I acted on instinct, without much thought. I offered the guard to search me."

That surprised an amused grunt out of him, also that she would not name the guard. She was loyal like that, too. Weariness crept up on him and he rubbed a hand over his face, aware how uncharacteristic such a show was. But the young woman's presence did not bother him.

A slender cool hand reached out to grasp his hand shyly, and Alviarin said quietly: "You should get some sleep. Who knows what the sunup will bring. Sir."

She had meant to put a smile on his face with that 'Sir', and it worked. He pressed her hand gently, reluctant to let go. But then he said decisively: "Same goes for you. Dismissed, Elf."

She had blushed, noticeable even in the starlight. But she managed an elfin smile and a wry: "G'Night, Captain."

Tom Chandler entered his cabin in almost darkness, went through the short version of his usual routine, and stopped at his writing desk. He reached for the picture of his dead wife with a lop-sided smile and a mental _'you'll never guess what has happened'._ Tonight he would sleep soundly.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

 **AN** : So for once I am inserting my OC into a scene from the show, where she would have been if…..

"Andy, take a look at this, will you?" Alviarin wiped the sweat from her forehead, leaving a swish of dark against the light skin. "I'm done with these pipes, but how much curvature is needed?"

Lt Chung leaned over to where the young woman was working. "Ah, better you look here." He motioned at the schematics of the cooling skid on the wall pointing at a specific outtake. "Here, this what we need. The angle should be 45 and 45 degrees on both ends, so they fit with the other two parts leading to the junction."

Alviarin studied the specifications for a moment, then nodded. "Right, but then I'll do the short ends first, otherwise I'll probably have to refit the long pipes twice."

Andy Chung frowned, trying to follow her train of thought. Then he smiled. "You just leveled up to journeywoman Elf, Alvi. That was fast thinking. I'll leave you to it."

They were interrupted by Chief Engineer Garnett. "Andy, grab your gear and get on deck. Where's Lynn?"

"Lynn's back in the other engine room. What's going on?"

"The network's signal originates from an oil rig a few miles out. You are to check it out, hijack or disable it. Support Lt Granderson."

"Oil rig? Can we take Miss Rykers?"

"Don't think so, not the first trip. The Captain's leading."

Neither noticed the dark head of the young woman whip up at the last sentence. She had listened to their conversation quietly studying the papers spread against the wall. Chandler was leaving the ship again? Quickly she wiped her face of any expression when the two engineers turned back toward her.  
"I gave Miss Rykers the pipes for the cooling skid."

"Good, you can show me later. Andy, you better get going."

A sudden cold touched Alviarin. "Andy-" she reached for his hand. "Take care!"

The young Lieutenant grinned at her. "No worries, this does not sound dangerous. We'll have soldiers with us, and the _Nathan James_ in calling distance."

The young woman summoned a smile. "Good luck, anyway."

Andy pressed the slender fingers. "Thanks."

Looking after the two engineers leaving for the decks Alviarin spent a moment considering. First the landing team had come back with the 'normal' population shooting after them, and now the source of the Ramsey-supporting signal was an oil rig? She fought with herself if she should race on deck to catch a glance at the leaving boat, but decided against it. Later, when she had finished her part of the sonar cooling skid, she'd get upstairs and find out more about this expedition. She had so hoped that the Americans would view Ramsey's video from a critical viewpoint, but it seemed they were expecting the worst. And who would support the crazy person and not only set up but maintain this signal tower? She turned back to her work with a heavy heart. Not even the memory of the past evening could summon a smile. Why was it this captain always lead the missions? On the other hand, she understood Tom Chandler perfectly – he carried the responsibilities, he had to lead the way.

Alviarin was on her way to talk to Dr Scott – she had the reasonable excuse of a cut on her arm – and pick up some update on the excursion, when chief engineer Garnett rushed by her, exclaiming hurriedly: "Get the doctor – helo is coming in with wounded!"

Her brain kicked into cold, analytic overdrive. She had informed the older woman and let her run ahead within seconds, following her with cold dread suffusing her whole being.

She stood quietly against the back of the helo deck room, surveying the scene unfolding in front of her eyes. Tex was wounded, but not too serious. One glance at Andy on the stretcher told her he was gone, not Granderson's fervent please, not Garnett's quiet support could help him. _Gods, Andy. This was not what you set out to do._ Chief engineer Lynn was not even with the group, and another marine was missing, too. There was nothing she could do except offer first aid.

Her heart beating horribly almost broke through the iron grip she held on herself. Captain Chandler stumbled inside with someone – _a woman?_ At first he seemed whole, even though there was blood on the side of his face. Alviarin's eyes were glued to the tall man, witnessing his pain at the death of another of his men. She noticed his waver, saw the blood leaving his face, and before she had grasped the thought, she had crossed the room – _Chief Engineer Garnett's voice calling for the doctor -_ and stood to support the Captain. Chandler collapsed against her.

For a short moment she cradled his head on her knees, witnessing the discovery of his wound, then he was taken away. Breathless, heartsick, she turned away. She saw the glance passing between the doctor and Burke and Wolfman leaning over the Israeli girl.  
Feeling helpless, she offered her empty hands to the remaining team, and was set to work treating burns. She picked up details of the mission gone wrong as she worked, from patients or the conversations flying through the room. She felt it acutely when the group around Lt Ravit suddenly turned silent. Why her? Ravit had been a ray of sunshine, quick, smart, ironic…

As she hunkered down to dress an ugly blistering batch on Wolfman's arm, she enquired quietly, trying to pull the tall Australian out of his thoughts: "How did you get to the helo?" Here was another one dealing with a senseless death. She did not know the exact nature of their relationship, but it had been deep and strong enough for him to seriously feel Ravit's passing. "You were at the main valve…"

Wolfman hardly looked up. "There were three explosions that didn't touch us yet, so we knew to hurry. We were already climbing when the gas leak caught fire. Parts went flying everywhere, that's when Ravit collapsed. Carried her the rest, but…"

Alviarin nodded, searching for a way to keep the other man talking. "So you swept the rig? What did you find? What about the message?"

"Found an alternative hacker nut, she's around somewhere. Seemed like the Captain dragged her out of the fire. How's he?"

"Badly." She did not want to delve too deeply into that. "So the rig is gone, and no message?"

"Yeah."

Alviarin allowed herself an angry grunt. "Seems like the _Nathan James_ gets sucker-punched every few steps forward. Look at me, Wolfman. Any other aches and pains? Cold spots? Don't play hero on me."

That dragged a weary grimace onto the other's features. "I get what you're doing, Elf, but I'm ok."

"She was important to you." _Gods, Andy._

"Aye." His shoulders drooped, head bent low.

"Miss, could you look at Cruz' cut – if you're done here." Doc Rios interrupted them. Alviarin pressed the Australians hand gently, and turned to the Puerto-Rican marine.

"Sit down, and let me look at this."

"I keep telling you, I am fine!"

"Which nobody refutes. But since there is nobody worse off left for me to look after, let me clean that cut at least."

"Ah, damn it." He sat down heavily, tension in his every move.

At least this guy she knew how to talk to. "You're from Anchorage?"

That surprised him. "How can you tell?"

"By your accent. It's faint, but it's there. I studied there. Tell me what happened today?"

Cruz was still so wound up that it did him good to go over the mission again, and Alviarin got a detailed story about what had gone on outside of the oil rig, while Wolfman's group had searched the inside. He stumbled over his failing to sink the small boat with the RPG, even admitted to conflicting emotions shooting at civilians – not immunes…

Then he shook himself . "Maybe look after her, too. Don't know her story, but she's pretty badly burnt. Thanks, Elf."

Alviarin turned – _anything to keep busy, she could not move until she knew how Chandler was doing –_ and glanced into the direction Cruz was motioning.

She found the dark eyes of a woman close to her own age trained on her, their expression overwhelmed. Dark reddish dreadlocks were framing a clear, finely chiseled face with slightly arrogant mouth and long nose.

"Rykers?" the young woman asked.

Displacement rushed through Alviarin, unsettling her thoroughly for a moment. Then a memory surfaced – a lifetime ago it seemed, but in truth it was only a couple of years.

"Alvi Rykers?" Valerie Raymond asked, her bafflement obviously equally overwhelming.

"Val Raymond?"

This was the woman the Captain had carried inside. She must have come from the oil rig with them, she had rather bad burns on her arms and one shoulder. From the oil rig… the signal tower… the network.

"Oh bloody hell. Valerie – you're Valkyrie? You've been supporting that nutjob Ramsey? Did you even see that video he's been broadcasting? Bloody hell, woman, you used to be smarter than that!" Her words, while quiet, carried much more intensity than she had meant them to. The anxiety over Chandler was weighing heavily on her mind. But still, Raymond's expression told her how barbed her accusations were. "Shut up and let me look at your arm."

Several times Raymond opened her mouth to maybe pose a question, but each time Alviarin refused to react, dressing her wounds efficiently.

Once she was done to her satisfaction, she turned away pointedly, not wanting to get into any kind of discussion with the woman before the assembled crew. Turned out things were calming down, everything taken in hand by the XO.

He was standing near the alcove with Dr. Milkowsky and Rachel Scott.

Alviarin caught only the last part of their conversation, but its purport was clear. Chandler was out of the woods but it could be a while until he would wake up – and it had been a close call. Rachel left the group, undercurrents still tangible between her and the two officers. The new doctor turned to Slattery with an afterthought: "Somebody should monitor him, just in case."

Alviarin closed the distance and met the eyes of the XO. "I'll sit with him, XO." When Slattery frowned considering, she added quickly: "I'm done here, and down at the cooling skid I'm stumped until Chief Engineer Garnett sets me a new assignment. I was waiting for Chief Lynn" – she took a breath, tried to strengthen her voice- "and Lt. Chung." _What a waste, what a horrible, senseless waste. Enthusiastic, idealistic, bloody smart smiling Andy._

The XO must have read something in her face, because he nodded acquiescence. Not waiting for another word, the young woman left the too-large empty space behind her.

She slipped into the little alcove where the Captain lay, behind the bed where she would not be in anybody's path. For a long moment she stood over him, heart beating fast, listening to his breathing. He was so pale, and there was a calm relaxation to his face, adding a certain vulnerability, that brought her back forcibly to the quiet hours on the island. A sudden shiver ran over her, and she reached for his hand, searching for what little reassurance the warm, strong, if unresponsive fingers offered. Finally she sat on a stool she pulled from under the bed and tried to relax. She rested the middle fingers of her right hand against the pulse beating a little flatly in Chandler's wrist, but she could not relax. Alviarin knew she'd have to face a few things before the day was done, but right now she could only hold on to the tall man's lifeless fingers and hope he would wake up soon.

She had learned to deal with things as they came, and not to rely on much besides herself, but she had gotten used to the camaraderie on the ship, to the tight knit group this catastrophe had made of the crew. They appealed to exactly this side of her – dealing with the problems as they came up, never backing down, never giving up. The shiver ran through her again, stronger, and she rested her head on her arm, willing herself to calm down.

The Captain would be ok, he had to be. Would he see the irony, the repetition in this setting? How much did he remember of the island? How much did she want him to remember? How much would or could things change between them if he _did_ remember everything? Alviarin knew he had lost his wife almost at the same time she had joined the _Nathan James_. She knew – no wait, had she not wanted to delay exactly this kind of thinking? But it seemed the thoughts had opened a flood gate. She knew she had fallen for the Captain with a completeness that would change – already had changed – her life. With a calm certainty she knew there was no coming back from what she felt for him – for the Captain and for the man glimpsed underneath. She had little experience with relationships, but she knew how deep the grief of losing a loved one could reach. There were moments when she hoped, believed, shivered to think he might care for her, too, but the death of his wife was something she did not dare try to factor in. The thing between them right now was something careful, trusting, and instinctive that she would not touch for the life of her.

"Ok, enough." She murmured to herself. Glancing up at the relaxed face, her inner eye flashed her the pictures from the last hour again - Andy on that stretcher, face swollen, at first he tried to speak… then Chandler carrying Valerie bloody Raymond in. She'd let herself grieve for Andy later. Right now she would hold on to the anger _that_ particular face fanned.

Remembering how the Captain had asked her to keep talking while fighting his concussion, she started to tell him about Valerie, voice pitched just low enough so he could hear – _know you are not alone –_ but no one else would understand.

They had met at a scientific conference in Boston three years ago. Valerie had just finished her PHD, Alviarin had just started hers – different subjects, but interested in overlapping fields. While Val had always been into the deepest secrets of programming, Alviarin had decided to return to the more classical mathematics after her foray into arctic engineering. Meeting in the way young scientists met when the world was still upright – listening to the other's talk, a question afterwards turning into a more heated discussion over a beer or breakfast, the two women had connected over their mutual critical view towards governments, sarcastic attitude and respect for the other's brain. But while Alviarin used every opportunity to get out of the city into the surrounding parks, lakes, even going up to Arcadia National Park once, Valerie relaxed with the local gamer and hacker community. So their acquaintance stayed superfluous. They'd exchanged emails over the last years, but since Val lived in New Orleans and Alviarin was happy to return to Calgary, they had not met again except for another workshop or some such.

"Remember the paranoid mates that drove me up to Banff? Two of them were in her network, gamers like her, and they probably had the info and incentive to flee from her."

"I remember."

Alviarin stared at the fingers she had been cradling. The Captain's hand had closed around hers, and now he turned his head to blink at her. The tears that never used to bother her now stung her eyes suddenly. "Oh thank god, Sir, you're awake."

"I thought we talked about the 'Sir', Elf. So you knew about the network?"

She blushed lightly, too relieved to care, and grimaced a moment later. "Back then I had the impression that it was a gamer - hacker kind of thing. Something like WikiLeaks, where you could log on if you were interested."

"Ah. You talked to her?"

"Not really. I dressed her arm but refused conversation. That she of all people would fall for Ramsey…" She ground her teeth together. "I should get Dr Milkowsky. They'll be terribly relieved you're..." She half got up.

"Sit a moment longer." The deep voice was rough, the strong fingers held her in place. Alviarin had to swallow over the sudden lump in her throat. "Who operated on me?"

She understood the question. "Both, Milkowsky and Scott. Shrapnel, inner bleeding. But Rachel will tell you herself when she comes to redress the wound."

"Ah." He lay with closed eyes for a long moment, only his breath and the grip on her hand told her he was awake. Then he turned his head again. "This bears a certain similarity to the last time I woke with pain someplace in my body."

"Aye. I had the same thought." Her voice gave out. She was unable to mask the emotions cursing through her. The piercing blue eyes seemed to see right into her very being.

It seemed they both remembered their surroundings at the same moment: Chandler glanced away with a frown while taking a breath to ask after the crew, the young woman did the same to tell him about Ravit. Both were almost relieved when two pairs of determined steps warned them of company.

Alviarin pulled her hand reluctantly out of his gentle grip and stepped back before the two doctors appeared beside the bed.

"Captain, good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

The young woman slipped out with only a short backward glance. She'd go see where she could be of use. Maybe Chief Engineer Garnett could put her to work again. There would be some kind of memorial service for the lost, later.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

 **AN:** Any clues how much time has actually passed by now since Baltimore?

* * *

The corner of the hallway that led to the workroom proved an unsurmountable obstacle – _empty -_ and Alviarin abruptly turned back. She found herself in the scullery, but fled the too many faces and too many discussions, until she reached the relative quiet of one of the smaller crew mess rooms. The wall she leaned against was cool. Her breath came faster, a lump in her throat pushing her to keep moving. She'd heard them mention that a get-together was scheduled after dinner. This would be the first time she would witness a ritual of this kind on the _Nathan James_. Unease and the need to be alone surged through her, and she turned to head for deck again. A few minutes of fresh air…

But her path was blocked by Valerie Raymond, who had been sitting somewhat forlornly in the corner of the same room and now stood. "Alvi."

Alviarin startled a little angrily – how lost to the world had the past few hours made her that she had not even noticed that she was not alone in the room? Then she exhaled consciously. "Valerie."

"Don't go. C'mon, talk to me."

Recognizing the wary plea in the other woman's eyes, Alviarin pulled out a chair and dropped into it. Valerie slowly did the same with a chair opposite.

Alviarin could not quite keep the hostility out of her tone. "Who's gonna start?"

"How come you're here? On this ship?"

Anger surged through the young woman. But in the same instant she realised that her every emotion was heightened by her friend's death, and the fact she had not yet been able to deal with it. "I guess I was looking for a place to do good and got lucky."

"Lucky? Ben said you went looking for your uncle…"

Ah damn it, Valerie was really asking for answers. "I was too late." _The small, sleepy house, door locked, key hidden in the cherry tree, meticulously clean. He'd known he had contracted the sickness, didn't want to leave a mess. Instead had focused on the data… "_ He'd left me some papers and an urgent instruction to get to a colleague of his in Baltimore. I tried to get there, only he was dead, too. The next one on the list was in Hawaii. Ranging through the town, looking for information, I discovered what the Governor was doing there."

Val frowned, but Alviarin shook her head, burying her face in her hand for a moment. "Story for another day. Either way, I met Dr Scott by pure chance, and she decided to ask the Captain if she could bring me on board." She shrugged.

"Why? I get that you wanted to get to Hawaii, but why would a navy ship take you on?"

"I'm immune."

"Oh." The newcomer worked through the implications with wide eyes.

"Dr Scott had already discovered the cure, but its mass production proved difficult, and she hoped to get some more insight from my blood." No need to go into details here. She still did not know where Val stood in all of this.

"How long have you been on board?"

"A few months."

"What'd you do?" Valerie was clearly quite overwhelmed trying to imagine life on the ship.

"Got a degree in engineering, remember? I made myself useful."

That earned Alviarin a wide-eyed grimace. "Yeah, you would. But, Alvi… So, what the Captain said on the rig was true?"

There was that lump again. Alviarin swallowed. "I wasn't there."

"He said… " She grunted in memory. "Planet bat-shit crazy. Told me they were in the arctic looking for a cure, came back to find the world in shambles…"

"Val, get that out in words I can understand."

Both hands gripping her dreadlocks, the other woman repeated the short discussion from the oil rig.  
Alviarin felt her lips curl at the image of Chandler dripping sarcasm at Valerie Raymond. Fierce pride for the leader of the little swimming world around her flooded her. Simultaneously the keen ache for Andy's delighted smile returned. He would have loved – _he had loved, he was there_ – that exchange.

"Tell me what happened." The words came out almost gentle.

Valerie misunderstood, still thinking of the moments on the rig, and gave a detailed description of the events: Her discovery, the explosions, Chandler following her, pulling her from the threatening flames, supporting her until the helo took them in.

Pulling her long braid over her shoulder, Alviarin steeled herself against the images her former friend's voice arose. "No, I meant to you. Before the rig."

Now the other had to pause, swallow, and swallow again. Valerie leaned back, staring at the ankle resting on her knee with a distracted expression on the beautiful features.

"You've never been to New Orleans, have you? Swamp, heat, cosy old town, half destroyed after Katrina. Ben told me about your flight to Banff. Well, about the same time I tried to get some information-spreading going, y'know, tell people about the outbreak, the things I knew via the net. But in a place like that, people would rather believe a voodoo-witch than a scientist. Tried to gather a few friends, gamers, and they would have come, but then the real outbreak came, people went crazy. Barricades were erected throughout the town, people fled to the boats. It was chaos. I knew of the rig thanks to your friend Louis, and I grabbed a few guys, some supplies, and came out here. Set up the network over some time."

Alviarin had watched her opponent quietly, the tragedy of the plague washing over the other woman's features. There was a little more to her story.

"We took turns going back to the mainland for supplies. One day this guy Ramsey showed up. He had somebody contact us through the network. He … oh shit."

"Go on." Alviarin put as much gentleness in her words as she could. She finally had an inkling of how this would proceed.

"I guess he read us quite quickly – or had talked to my guys beforehand – or had some knowledge about the network, or all three – either way, he talked to us, showed me redacted documents, appealed to the already paranoid side in me…" Valerie turned her head away. "He convinced me – us – that he had the right of it and that the Navy was evil, that the flue was instrumented by the government… I gave him access to the network." The last was ground out dryly, expecting chastisement.

The two women sat quietly for a long, long time, the silence spreading. Then Alviarin took a deep breath. "I can't say I would have acted the same way, but I will give you this much: I get it. I take it the reason you were alone today is because your friends went with Ramsey and you never heard from them?"

"Yeah, he told me they were killed during the _Nathan James'_ attack on New Orleans."

Alviarin rubbed her forehead. "That guy is too sleek for words." She leaned forward a little, about to rebuke the other woman. But then she swallowed the tense words. This was not her place, and Valerie needed to see how things worked here by herself, or she would build a wall of distrust and defiance. Alviarin would let her stew. She could not really summon the energy anyway.

"Did you hear from Ben and the others again?"

"Yeah, they're safe and sound in that place, still. Calgary is rallying, but Missoula seems to…" she broke off, reading in her counterpart's face.

"Missoula was a ghost town when I reached it."

"You never thought to stay there, wait it out? Ben said you did not even stay the night?"

"Never really crossed my mind. I'd have gone mad there." _Same as you did on the rig, kinda._ "You know me. Uncle Mike had a mission for me, said he needed me, I could be of use. That was all I needed. And Ben and the others… we were not close. There was nothing holding me…" _… and now there is…_

"Sorry 'bout your uncle. He was the doctor, right?"

"Yeah." _No, this was enough._ Her eyes were burning. "Come to the gathering, Val. See for yourself who's side I'm on." She stood, gave the other a shaky smile and walked out the door, feeling the dark eyes following her.

* * *

The engine room was too-warm – _but empty_ – and Alviarin welcomed its darkness, the smell of oil and metal, the deep thrumming noise that surrounded one down here. She sank to the floor in a corner she knew would not be frequented any time soon and let her head sink to her knees. For a long time she just sat there, let the emotions come and go, flow through her, until finally the tears came, in their wake the racking sobs. With them came the memories. She would hold on to them, cherish them, give them a place in her heart.

How she had first met him – all correct address, cautious curiosity as to what this shy female civilian could actually accomplish. The shock of black hair, the quick dark eyes. His appreciative glances when she proved herself, his surprise at her education. He showed her the ropes without once giving in to impatience, always polite, considerate of her reticence. On the trip to gather supplies for the freshwater system they had gotten a little closer, sharing some stories of their lives before…

When she had returned to work after the island, he had asked her to use his first name with an endearing formality, which almost at once had given way to the easy camaraderie. He was the only one she had told a little of the island-story, he guessed how badly she had taken the aftermath, had noticed how badly she slept until she'd gotten that stupid demonstration behind her _– and seen the Captain._ But he never pressured her, never asked for more than she was ready to give.

His understanding of the engines, of the life throbbing through the ship was something so instinctive that had fascinated her. He had been so full of life, so staunch in his believe in a future, in what they were doing on the _Nathan James_ , in Captain Tom Chandler.

Arms wrapped around her body, she bit her lip to find an anchor tethering her to reality. Had she something to forgive herself when she thought of the ready smile? Would she have found words to say goodbye, had she been given the chance?

This was not the first time she lost somebody dear to her. That did not make it any easier. She remembered how she had buried Uncle Mike, and gasping for air through the last sobs, she got up. She did not need anything to remember Andy by, this was not her way, but she would like to give something to him however way the marines dealt with the bodies.

Physically exhausted, mentally depleted, but calmer now, she felt almost ready to face the gathering.

* * *

An automatic gesture checked for the small knife at her belt. The young woman passed by her workplace from the morning and searched through the waste-wood box for a piece the size of two fists. That in her grip, she headed for the stern of the _Nathan James._ She sat down behind the capstan and pulled out her knife. The gentle wind would do for the scraps.

It was Chief Engineer Garnett whose long strides shook her out of her concentration.

"Here you are. I've been looking for you."

The blond Engineer's voice was tense, but her body language suggested an inner struggle more than annoyance. Alviarin let her hands sink and looked up at her. "I… had to take some time. Did you have a new job for me?"

"I understand. Yes, I looked at the pipes, good work by the way, but we can talk about that after the … service. I just wanted to see if you're ok. You're pale."

"I'm dealing as best as I can, I guess. How are you?" Alviarin had gotten up, slipped the knife into its sheath and hid the little wooden piece in her hands self-consciously. Turning the talk away from herself so she could keep her voice steady.

The older woman leaned against the capstan and grimaced. Her eyes were red-rimmed, she was pale, too. "You were gone when I returned to the helo-deck. What are you doing?"

No longer able to conceal her carving, the young woman held out a little dolphin. "Its… since I don't know what to expect, I would like to leave this with Andy, however… _things_ are done on the _Nathan James._ "

Garnett took the wooden animal gingerly and looked it over for a long time. She swallowed a few times convulsively, and finally gave it back. "It's beautiful. You're gifted." Then she lifted her head into the wind. "God, what a mess. Come, let's head inside."

* * *

Alviarin stayed in the shadowed back of the room, not only because she felt a little like an intruder, the newcomer who knew little about the customs, but also because she could not be certain of her countenance. The table set for the missing she understood, ironically it had been Lynn who had explained that particular rite to her. She smiled a little at Valerie's wide eyes. _This one_ had quite some rethinking to do.

And all the time she was keenly, electrically aware of the calm, rock-solid presence of Tom Chandler. That he was standing was a small shock, and he did not let on that he had been severely wounded only half a day ago. His stoic presence brought a solidity back to the gathering. The measured looks betrayed only to the most aware how alert he was to what was going on – especially to Valerie Raymond. So the Captain was already planning ahead? Alviarin was not surprised.

She let her gaze wander over the assembled, heart going out to Chief Engineer Garnett especially. She had lost husband and daughter to the flu, and now not only two of her engineers – _how would they cope?_ – but her trusted right hand, staunch supporter and close friend. Lynn had been a fixture of the engineering crew, but Andy Chung had been special.

* * *

Later, Alviarin found the chief engineer in the workroom, staring ahead unseeing. The specifications were spread out in front of her, edges curling.

"Ma'am." Gods, this was hard.

"Miss Rykers, good. Let's figure out how to fix the sonar." The blond woman pulled herself together with business-like attitude.

For maybe half an hour the blond and the dark head bent over schematics, calculations and drawings. Finally, the work for the next time cut out clearly, Alviarin interrupted the blond woman carefully. "Ma'am, its fine. I get what I've got to do. First imperative is to have the sonar functioning, if need be with ice. Meanwhile we fix the cooling skid; I do the last pipes, then place the whole construction only after alignment with the whole team. I'll start now, I've got a few hours left in me. Go take some rest. Please. You're no good to us if you fall sick."

Garnett grimaced, pushing a hand over her face. "I – I can't. I'm afraid I will break down if I stop working. I can't believe how horrible his story ends. I can't get his face out of my mind."

"Would you… would you tell me about Andy? Before Baltimore? He served with you for a long time, didn't he?"

Garnett relaxed a little. "Oh yes. Andy… was the smartest kid in the whole bunch. He qualified for Engineering lieutenant faster than any I've seen. He had this instinctive feel for the engines, for the sequence of movement, for possible difficulties. You know the stories of how he managed things when I was injured, and that other time I got sick – he dealt with everything in his minimalistic way and always found a solution."

"Lynn told me once how the crew used to make fun of Andy because he always treated whatever he was working on as if it were alive and talking to him."

Garnett smiled in memory. "Yes, he complained about the engine not purring correctly, and how nobody else even listened. They called him a nerd."

Alviarin allowed herself a chuckle. "Only because they were envious and could not understand his intuitive understanding of the machinery."

Slowly, carefully, Alviarin drew the other woman out of her utter despair – and not from pure altruism, either. It helped enormously to find happy, funny, lively memories, like a promise that he and Lynn would not be forgotten.

Finally the Chief Engineer, colour back in her cheeks, asked with a yawn: "This dolphin… is that a Native American custom?"

"To be honest, I am not certain where this comes from. My father gave me a whole menagerie of wooden animals before he died, and somehow I have been whittling them for everyone I lost. I think the idea is rooted in Celtic druidism, though the Siberian native Shamans have a similar custom." Alviarin was aware that she was babbling, nerves still raw.

"You're a weird creature, Alviarin Rykers. Though Andy would have liked that little mammal. He was always fascinated if a school of dolphins turned up to accompany the ship. Well, I'll take your advice and grab a few hours' sleep. G'Night, Elf."

"G'Night, Chief."

* * *

Somehow the young woman was not too surprised when another female voice interrupted her work. Putting the welding torch and tong down carefully, she turned to face the computer scientist.

"So this is where you hide out?" Valerie's words would have brought a frown and a biting answer, had not the tone of her voice betrayed insecurity and relief. She glanced around the cramped room with honest curiosity. "You're really one of them?"

Exasperated, Alviarin packed the gear away safely for the night and pulled the other toward the hallway. "Val, what is it you want to know?"

There were two marines waiting outside the door, but at a surprised glance and understanding nod from the Elf, they backed away so the two women could speak in what passed for privacy on a ship.

Raymond took a breath, bit her lip and squared her shoulders. "Your Captain saved my life, and he didn't have to. He told me he hoped that I could help."

Alviarin hid a dry grimace. That was Tom Chandler, always three steps ahead, always seeing the bigger picture. "Aye, so?"

"These people here, the crew…" she lifted her hands helplessly, unable to convey her confusion. But her old friend understood, maybe better than Valerie did herself.

"Val, look around you. These destroyers have been old for a couple of years. What makes them work, no, let me rephrase. The responsibility of making them work, of achieving the missions day in and day out falls to the people working on them. In the end, to the crew. You'd expect a group of people grumpy, burdened by duty, with a bleak outlook on life, maybe unhappy about how the money is distributed by the government. But what you get is this – they work hard to make the most of what they have, unblinking 14 to 16 hour days. Yes, there may be a few disgruntled faces, but they are outweighed by far by the opposite. _That's what you start with._ Then, add the outbreak of the red flu. Talk to Alicia Granderson – the nav Lieutenant. She had the worst of it with her mother Governor of Baltimore and abusing that power in the worst possible way. They have a Captain who not only takes care of his crew, he sees the rest of the world, too, and tries to do right by it. So before they can come home to look after their loved ones, they support a doctor on board who – while she had been secretive, admittedly – has finally achieved the unthinkable, the Cure. And from here on, trying to save mankind single-handedly, they get thrown stones one after the other. And still, you were at the service today, they don't give up, however easy it would be."

Valerie was staring at her open-mouthed. Alviarin was aware that she had gone overboard a little, uncharacteristically. But she was deadly tired, and not up for a heated discussion with her old friend. Val could be a biting critic, and sometimes downright frustrating.

"There's a lot one can criticise, concerning the regulations, the iron adherence to the rules, the hierarchy. But at least in this situation we find ourselves in, with this Captain heading the ship, there is no place I would rather be." _Okay, enough now._

"You used to be a critic…"

 _Damn it, woman._ "I still am. I don't like the president, I don't trust him."

"But you believe in Captain Chandler?"

 _With all my heart._ "Yes, Val. And I think you do too, otherwise we would not be standing here."

"So you'll enlist once you get the chance?"

"That's a very feeble attempt to make me back down, Valerie. No, I'd never enlist. I don't think of myself as an American. I hope to find a way to help rebuilding after…" she swallowed convulsively. _After she left the ship?_ She shrugged expressively, pushing over the moment. "You know me Val, probably better than a lot of people. I take things as they come."

"You're still hot when you get agitated."

Alviarin huffed out a breath. "Actually, I'm cold. Val, stop trying to rattle me. You're going aggressive because you feel defensive. I feel at home here and I'm still not into women." She calmly met the other's dark eyes.

"Alvi, I'm sorry." Valerie rubbed her arms. "I'm not used to having my world turned upside down. I thought I knew…"

The young woman grinned tiredly. "The smartest kid in town has to admit she got stuck? Val, there's honour in changing course, admitting mistakes. Same as at the university – only that never happened to you there, did it?"

Valerie Raymond choked on a surprised laugh. "True. You're very eloquent tonight, Wolf Child." For a quiet moment the two young women stood, then Raymond tilted her head: "Could you show me back to where I sleep? I don't want to ask my guards. You too should get some sleep. You're all see-through."

Alviarin walked ahead. "I'll turn in soon. I'm not certain -"

Behind the corner where the two marines were just visible waited three uniformed figures – the XO had joined the two young men.

"XO." She offered him a half smile. "I'll take Valerie to her bunk, if that's all right."

Slattery stood in her way for a moment, something thoughtful in his glance as if he were taking her measure anew. "Aye, Elf, but she's not losing these two." He let them pass, looking after them with a slight frown.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter twenty-one

"What was that?"

Alviarin startled from the keys of the piano. She had lost herself to the harmonies and not heard Wolfman Taylor come in. He stood a little behind her, and now settled into a chair.

"You mean the music?" The young woman frowned, pulling her braid over her shoulder.

"Yeah."

"Beethoven."

"With your weird background, how did you learn to play that well?" There was a slightly aggressive undertone to the Australian's question.

She let some sarcasm seep into her voice. "With dedication?"

Wolfman gazed at her with unreadable dark eyes, then looked away. Alviarin considered him for a long moment. He looked as tired as she felt, but seemed equally fidgety and on edge.

"Look, I… just wanted to say sorry 'bout Chung. You two were close."

"Ah, Wolfman." Dejection settled on her. Still, she tried to imitate his accent. "Sorry 'bout Ravit."

"Yeah, shitty day, right?"

"You could say that. I'm still so on edge I can't hardly sit still."

"The music… that's a good way to deal?"

She shrugged expressively, knitting her hands together. "For me it is. If I can't go for a run in the forest…"

"Yeah, I know the feeling. Listen, I saw that little dolphin you made for Lt Chung. I was wondering… would you make me something for Ravit?"

"Of course… anything particular?"

"Nah. I just thought the dolphin fit well with Chung."

"So we'll find something that fits Ravit." She leaned forward, trying to understand what the dark-haired man was looking for.

"Look… I can't talk about her yet. I know that's how some people deal, and I'm grateful I got to be there, got to hold her hand, say goodbye, but I can't…" he pushed both hands through his hair and over his face.

"Sh, hey, don't… "

"How come you're so calm, so detached?" He almost accused her.

Alviarin took a breath. "Because I hid in the engine room for two hours and cried my eyes out?" A glance at the clock on the wall, a calming breath out. "And spent another hour torturing this poor instrument? I… calm? Detached? I could hate you for those words!"

"Nah, I didn't mean it that way. The way it happened, it's just so…" He shook his head, clenching his fists.

Alviarin finished his sentence without thought: "Senseless? Every war is senseless, but this, today, this was absolutely pointless. You thought there was not much that could happen – the sub only a subliminal threat, the landing team safely back from New Orleans… I didn't get on deck to see you off. I thought I was being melodramatic… Ah, sorry." Now it was her who hid her face in her hands. Alviarin suppressed a shiver.

"You seemed so self-contained earlier at the gathering." Wolfman grimaced at her.

The girl could barely reign in the flood of emotions his thoughtless words had broken loose.

She reached for the keys again in a subconscious search for support, which the piano answered with a discordant sound.

Wolfman's expression changed to an alert, somewhat dangerous frown. "Is it true you know the alternative hacker nut from way back? I heard the XO mention something."

"The XO? Bloody hell, am I back to being suspicious now?" _The look he had given her earlier…_

"So how do you know her?" Wolfman ignored her words, intent on the woman they had found on the rig. "Did you talk to her?"

Alviarin sketched out the connection and the conversations she had had with Valerie Raymond in as little words as possible.

"So do you have an opinion on her participation or will you stay all neutral?" The Australian's voice was hard.

Alviarin stared at him, heartsick and angry. She understood that he was projecting his own anger and pain at losing his friend onto the situation. But she would not let herself be pressured into either defending Valerie or condemning her. Finally she told him as much, adding quietly: "If Captain Chandler sees fit to use her, trusts he can change or already has changed her mind, that should solve the issue."

"But she's your friend!"

The young woman stood up. "She _was_ my friend, and that does not make me responsible for how she reacted to the outbreak of the red flu!"

They stared at each other. Finally Taylor shook himself. "Let's put this on hold, shall we?"

Alviarin could only nod, eyes burning, throat constricting.

"Everything ok in here?" The XO's cool voice cut through the tension.

"Aye, XO, just emotions running high." Wolfman shot a slightly dismayed look the young woman's way.

"Am I interrupting?" Slattery eyeballed the girl standing at the piano. All three understood quite clearly that he had come for her, whatever the reason.

Taylor shook his head slightly. "I'll turn in. G'night, XO, Elf."

Alviarin managed a quiet: "G'night, Wolfman."

"Miss Rykers, the Captain would like a word in his office."

Alviarin felt as if tiny icicles were rising throughout her body. Myriad thoughts washed through her head, she felt like she would never manage anything past the lump in her throat. She'd have liked to sort through the emotions, to hide behind a few hours of dreamless sleep. _He was asking for her._ "I… I've never been in the captain's office." Even her voice sounded off to her.

"I'll walk you." She could not see the towering first officer's smirk. He had grown to like and respect this contradictory young woman. She did not know that he had heard most of her conversation with the Raymond woman, and some of the dispute with the Australian CPO. He had kept an eye on her since Chandler had told him that the two women knew each other.

Slattery knew most of what went down on the ship, he had known about the friendships that had grown. He also was aware how much difference two lively, accomplished, beautiful women like Ravit and Rykers could make not only on a cruiser, but especially in the situation they now found themselves in. The outcome of today had reminded him forcefully that they were much more vulnerable than they liked, and that the ramifications of Ramsey's video were far more threatening than first realised. That his commander and friend had been severely wounded had shaken him badly, that they had not only lost five crewmembers, but also been forced to shoot on their own people made him mad.

Trying to lighten the mood a little – the young woman resembled a startled deer in headlights at the moment – he asked her: "This nickname now, you realise you had that even before we reached Florida?"

Only half distracted from whatever was going on behind the grey eyes she glanced up at him with a frown. "You're joking?"

"No, some of the crew heard the Captain's children referring to you as 'Elf', and it seems Taylor picked up on that and the rest of the crew took to it."

"Really? Sam and Ashley thought it funny because Alvi sounded so strange to them, and Sam thought I looked like an elf – they saw me doing some Yoga, I believe." A small smile lightened the drawn face. "Ashley liked my hair… I had no idea others had heard…"

Slattery watched her amiably. He had succeeded, the girl was thinking of something nice. Only they had reached their destination, and she had not realised it yet.

Rykers glanced up at him, startled. The sudden vulnerability in the dark eyes hit the first officer unprepared.

Tom Chandler stood in the open door, his expression unreadable. "Miss Rykers, please come in. Thank you, XO."

Slattery nodded shortly, and stood to watch his commander close the door on the young woman.

* * *

Captain Tom Chandler let the young woman pass by him into the room and shut the door. He had expected some kind of physical and emotional reaction seeing her after waking up with the deep voice in his ear – _again_ – but not to the extent that he now experienced her nearness. Her passing by had given him a whiff of the light spicy smell he remembered acutely from the evening on the empty deck.

Not only her nearness, but her presence in this very room – she was like a foreign entity in these most familiar surroundings…

He had planned a short serious conversation, but watching her eye the comparatively large room with wonder and apprehension made him hesitate. She was pale to a degree that made her hair seem black, her skin had the blueish sheen he associated with utter exhaustion. The grey eyes were red-rimmed, the usually so expressive bird-like hands gripped the sleeves of her loosely fitting shirt. A tiny piece of wooden shaving stuck to the leg of her pants.

About to address her, Chandler suddenly took a step back, leaning against the door. Out of nowhere, the memory of Darien swamped him – she had stood in this very room, after he had been given the _Nathan James_ , and had looked around the room with that warm, slightly wistful expression, acknowledging that this would be his home for the near future. She had shaken her blond head and let her fingers run over the cupboards lightly. _Never had they known how much of the future…_

The guilt he felt at confronting his attraction to this Elf had been a subconscious thing ever since the first time he talked to her and she unwittingly reached down into his very being with her innocent, yet keenly attentive questions. Had reached its peak that moment he had regained his memories from the island and … the white elephant. He wondered sometimes what Alviarin – _Erin_ – thought of that particular incident. This was not the moment to analyse it, but the memory, and the curiosity, burned on a low, steady flame – and had woken him more than once with emotions thought lost to oblivion – or buried with the mother of his children.

The Captain rubbed thumb and forefinger over his brows, trying to chase the conflicting thoughts from his mind. The past day, the loss of his people, his own injury,…

He opened his eyes to find the young woman standing in front of him – rather too close. While heat – and anger – flared through him, his glance drawn to the slightly pursed lips, he realised that the grey eyes expressed innocent concern.

"Captain, are you all right?"

It took him a moment to swallow and find his voice. Long enough to watch the change in her expression, the darkening of her eyes, white teeth biting her lower lip…

Chandler ground his teeth silently, pulled the stoic calm around himself like a mantle, and pushed away from the door.

"I'm sorry, Miss Rykers. Please, sit down."

The young woman drew a shaky breath and turned in sync to his movement. She watched him take a seat at the table with apprehension hiding in the wide-eyed glance. Then she blinked, shook herself out of the moment and closed the distance, pulling out a chair a little farther away than was strictly necessary for politeness.

Chandler found his eyes resting on the narrow hands, now more relaxed in her lap. The dark stains on the slender long fingers told of her recent work in the engine workroom, and he recognized that he could not start the conversation quite as he had had in mind.

"We lost good people today. You and Andy Chung were close. I'm sorry."

The Elf hung her head for a moment, hiding her face. The she answered his look with a calm, if heartfelt: "I'm sorry, too."

"You have not slept?" As if he needed confirmation on that…

"No."

 _She'd been busy_. "Thank you for the vote of confidence."

The time it took her to summon confusion told him exactly how exhausted the young woman was.

"The XO has been shadowing Miss Raymond, and reported your fervent words in support of the _Nathan James._ " _… and myself…_

Alviarin Rykers flushed deeply, staring at him in horror so abject, it managed to make him smile.

"Good Lord, I…" She bit her lip, equal parts anger, resignation and embarrassment warring on her features. "Am I back under suspicion? Is that what this is about?" Her eyes were suddenly haunted.

That took the captain aback. Even more his own reaction to her words surprised him.

"Alviarin, I asked you here to sound out your opinion on Miss Raymond's stance in this situation we find ourselves in."

The girl – she seemed so young at this moment – stared at him, her surprise, relief, disbelief so readable to him as if he were touching her thoughts.

The deep voice was rough with emotion. "I feel really stupid, and really honoured right now."

 _Bless her for that unfiltered thought._

"No need for the first. I recognize that there are a few unfinished threads. So?" He had to keep the subject matter on track. "Will you share your opinion?"

The Elf leaned her head into her hand. "You know about both our conversations?"

"Aye."

"You really want my impression?"

Chandler answered the slightly plaintive question with a calm gaze.

Alviarin took a deep breath. "She was on the defensive. For someone like Val, that means she's seriously rethinking her position. I would say she's convinced, and we can trust her."

"Why don't you trust the President?" It was unfair of him to attack her like this, but he needed to sound out her analysis. To his surprise the young woman answered at once, her eyes narrowing.

"He turned to self delusion, making himself a cheap target for Ramsey, scrutinizing _nothing_ , lied until you forced him to admit his weakness, then was overwhelmed to face the crew – they represent the constitution and the system _he swore_ to uphold! _–_ and now suddenly he's all supportive and assertive. It may be a residue of my days as a government critical student, but he hasn't earned my respect, yet."

All right, here his own actions threw a shadow. Chandler had told the young woman some of what had happened between him and Michener that first night – and the rest she had filtered from between the lines and Michener's presence on the _Nathan James_. Damn, she was quick on the uptake. And it was sweet how protective of the crew she had become.

"There is no chance Raymond will turn back?" _Michener had…_

The young woman grimaced. "Honestly, I don't think so. She's a very honest and very smart person, and while not used to being wrong and inclined towards not-trusting-the-government theories, she also has a good heart." Alviarin turned her head, staring in the distance. "She's not a nutcase, just very critical, in that arrogant, scrutinizing way… which can be understood in my humble opinion. Seeing, hearing and feeling what the _Nathan James_ has been through though, the fact that you saved her life…" She caught herself and glanced at him warily.

"Would you bet your life on it?"

Ah, his mistake. At first, his words _had_ registered, she almost shrugged. But then the grey eyes widened. _Would you bet my life on her?_ Putting _his_ life on the line was a different question for the Elf. He would have relented, taken the question back, had not the sudden heat in her eyes robbed him of the window to act.  
Aware that she had betrayed the moment of realisation, the young woman turned away forcefully. The narrow hands were twisting the fabric of her shirt. Finally she ground out: "Yes, I'll vouch for her."

A long moment passed, her words hanging over the large table.

Chandler had the different strategies laid out in his head. He felt the adrenalin rising through his body, feeding the anger and determination that had only been growing since he had woken up. The fight against the British commander was coming.

"You plan to use her, the remains of the network?"

He was slightly surprised to find her focused again, searching his face.

"I hope she can be of assistance."

The lights suddenly back in the grey eyes, she tilted her head. "You gained her respect, you know that? That comment about planet bat-shit crazy? She repeated it to me word for word."

Chandler had to suppress a chuckle. That had been when getting through to that young woman had seemed the most important thing. Smiling dryly in memory, he answered: "She was like the personification of the computer-genius who believes that she's living the biggest conspiracy of them all."

The pain in her eyes told him she was thinking of the young engineer.

"Yes, Andy liked it, too."

Taken by surprise at his observation, Alviarin gave him a small, grave smile. His heart twisted a little. That smile… she made him vulnerable. Their gaze locked, gaining unexpected heat. He could see the pulse at the base of her neck starting to flutter.

Before he could form a cognitive sentence, the words slipped through his lips.

"Miss Rykers, a few hours from now… I want you off the ship."

The Elf stared at him, incomprehension taking over. "Sir?"

Chandler felt his mouth twitch. What had come over him?

"Why?" The girl, fighting visibly against desperation, tried to sort through what might have made the Captain utter those words. She wrapped her arms around her body.

"You'll go with the XO. I want all the civilians off the _Nathan James._ "

Alviarin stood in a sudden motion, turning half away from him. "You intend to carry the fight to the sub-marine."

"Yes."

"But… the cooling skid, the sonar… I do good work! With Andy gone, there's way too few hands down there!"

He should end this right here and now. "They'll manage. My first imperative is to keep you safe. I won't discuss this."

"I chose to come onto the ship. I chose to stay. I feel safer here-" she broke off suddenly, turning tortured eyes toward him. "Is this about obligation?"

A frown. "You did save my life." Chandler could not quite follow her thought-process.

"You are an honourable man, Captain, but you don't owe me anything. If you feel obligated to _me_ , then I ask that you let me stay. Let me be of use."

Chandler leaned back, forcing himself to exhale calmly. It was not only the adrenalin fighting for the upper hand. "That's not how this works. If I take the _Nathan James_ into the fight, I can't…"

The young woman pulled the long, heavy braid over her shoulder in a gesture of endearing ambiguity. "Please…"

Now he stood, driven by the expression in the grey eyes. "I'm certain your uncle explained this particular part of a captain's duty to you. I won't let anything distract me," he hesitated for a heartbeat, but pushed on: "least of all someone I care about."

Alviarin had turned away after the first sentence. Chandler watched her take a slow breath, and she turned back to face him with a measured movement. Their glances locked. He did not know what she read in his eyes, while hers betrayed unhappiness, and resignation. There was something deeper hiding there, too, a desperate yearning, but as if suddenly aware of her expressiveness, the young woman broke eye-contact.

"Anything I say now will sound melodramatic or childish." She shrugged. "I acquiesce."

Chandler found his heart beating unreasonably fast. Was this conversation finished? The young woman seemed to think so, turning toward the door slowly. A thought made her hesitate.

Looking back at him with deceptive calm, she said shyly: "I would hate to have carried you up that incline for nothing…Tom." The smile she tried to give him was shaky at best.

Before she could reach for the door handle, the Captain had taken a step toward her and uttered her name. "On the island… there is something we should talk about."

The young woman froze. A shiver ran over the slender form.

Chandler could not let her go like this. He reached for her arm. "Elf, look at me."

The spark he felt at the touch startled her, too. He almost regretted making her turn around again – she was fighting tears. The silky feel of her braid swinging with the fierce shaking of her head distracted him further. She wiped at her eyes impatiently.

He was about to speak, but the young woman beat him to the punch. "Please don't," she whispered wide eyed.

Chandler frowned, thrown off track. She was too close, he could feel the heat of her body, could see the beating of her heart against the white skin of her throat. "Why not?" his voice was as raw as hers had been.

The captain found the grey eyes staring up at him with an expression he could not begin to analyse. Cool, slightly rough long fingers reached for his face ever so gently and pulled him down slightly, so she could touch her lips to his.

Not that there was much strength necessary. He found that when she would have drawn back, he was not willing to break the kiss, and leaned in with the blood rushing through his veins. He could taste the tears on her lips.

When they finally drew apart, they were both breathing faster. Lost in the moment, Chandler watched the glowing wonder in the girl's eyes slowly give way to a timid smile, watched her swallow and search his face – what for, she did not know herself.

"For luck?" he heard himself ask.

"For luck." She agreed slowly, her voice a whisper, eyes questioning.

The tall man could feel the moment reality and their surroundings crashed between them, could see the realisation return the haunted expression into the young woman's eyes. She took the half step backwards, found the door at her back, grasped for the handle, and muttered a disjointed: "I'm sorry."

His last impression was the long, heavy dark braid swinging like a lively thing down past her waist, then the door shut on her, and he was left alone with swimming senses.

 **AN:** I've been trying to add more time to have passed since Alviarin came on board (notable before the island, too!). A friendly reader alerted me to the term "fanwank" (which I only knew from Dr Who-related issues). This chapter kind of happened, and I feel a little apprehensive about its reception. The next one is running circles in my head, so what happened here will turn full circle soon-ish. Bear with me? And be as gentle and constructive with the criticism as before?

 **AN2: Don't worry, Alvi and Wolf will sort this out very soon.**


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Had to do a re-write since my computer crashed. Hope I didn't leave any holes. This one was difficult because the episode was particularly brilliant.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Wolf Taylor scouted their surroundings with utmost diligence. The tension in the group was high, even the XO was on edge. Miller and Cruz flanked the president right behind him, and Tex looked after the doctor. Somewhere further down the column there was the Elf, chatting quietly with some of Ray's charges, while Burke brought up the rear.

Wolf had some unfinished business with that girl, maybe now was a good moment. There'd be a lot of waiting and securing to be done...

The air in the moist wilderness was full of bird voices, but one single one caught him by surprise. He turned around sharply, looking for the source, collecting a few alert frowns - only to meet laughing eyes and broad grins from the younger members of their group. And Alviarin, who regarded him wearily, but with an elfin smile lurking in the grey eyes.

After a glance at the XO, who passed a warning frown over the group, Wolf let himself fall back from his position, until he was at the same level as the young woman.

"You do a Kookaburra? That was impressive."

Alviarin grinned at him, outwardly relaxed, but her eyes told him not only was she a little weary of him – the way their last talk had gone, not surprisingly – but also that she was putting on a show to distract the younger kids.

"She does all kinds of birds!" one boy piped up.

"She promised us a cougar once we are somewhere inside!"

"Can you do bird-sounds?"

"I want to hear an alligator!"

The children were disciplined and very quiet, but happily chatting and darting glances around.

"Did you know she is an Elf?"

The red haired one's question he answered: "Yes, I did. But a nice one!"

Momentarily distracted, the pack discussed this between themselves. Taylor glanced at the young woman again.

"You ok?"

She shrugged, and turned the question back at him. "Are you?"

"Sorry 'bout the other time…"

Alviarin grimaced and glanced away. "I could have handled that better, too. Situation got a bit out of hand."

"We were both hurting, angry,…"

"… helpless, tired…"

"… and on edge?" he finished. "We good, Elf?"

That brought a small smile of relaxation to the girl's face. "Yeah, we're good, Wolfman."

For a while they walked in silence, then Alviarin pursed her lips. "I got something for you."

Wolfman frowned.

Wordlessly she nestled something from her belt and dropped it into his outstretched hand.

His training kicked in and kept him moving automatically. But his eyes were glued to the tiny wooden marten standing on his palm, slender body caught mid-move, head turned slightly to the side, as if looking up at him with Ravit's mischievous eyes. Even her curls were hinted at by a few expertly placed knife-strokes.

Unexpectedly, tears stung his eyes. He swallowed and curled his fingers protectively around the wooden animal.

"It's perfect." Out of the corner of his eyes he perceived the Elf's quiet smile. No more words were necessary.

It was the first time he could observe the graceful young woman away from the ship. His curiosity had been woken when he sparred with her. They were both outsiders on this ship they found themselves on, far from home, not really a part, not really a misfit… especially now that Ravit – and the young engineer – were gone.

Alviarin moved through the dense jungle with her usual grace and contained movements, every fibre alert to her surroundings, but a big part of her awareness also included the youngsters surrounding them. She had a quick word of encouragement here, a serious smile there, an offered water bottle, a wink – keeping the kids in high spirits. It drained her, he could see that.

A quick, wry glance told him she was aware of his scrutiny, but chose not to call him out on it.

"Say, when did you have time for … artistry?"

A pained expression hushed over the shadow-dappled features at his question. "Couldn't sleep."

She'd been going without sleep for way too long when they'd spoken in the mess-hall, and from then on she'd… "You took the oil rig pretty hard."

A short hesitation and a twitch of her mouth told him there was something else bothering her. "I'm fine. I got some sleep in the end. Didn't have much to pack…" She rolled her eyes at him comically, and he acquiesced with a raised brow.

They reached the cabin they were to hole up in shortly after.

The waiting got to all of them, quiet conversations being started and fading away again. Dr Scott and Tex were speaking quietly by a window. Danny Green had this far-away expression in the light eyes, the knuckles of his fingers white. Alviarin, who had tried to entertain the youngest children with a game of cat's cradle, had the same weirdly hounded countenance, and Wolf decided to move on impulse.

"XO, would it not be helpful to have eyes outside? Could I take Lt. Green and Miss Rykers for a quick look around?"

Danny Green had turned his head alertly, the grip on his gun relaxing for a moment. Grey eyes large, the young woman sidled over to where the Australian was facing the first officer.

Slattery fixed the girl with his best dark frown. But she spoke on before he could get a word in. "Sir, I'm a good scout."

The first officer's frown took on a perplexed expression.

Wolfman glanced at Lt. Green, who had followed the exchange alertly. "We'll stay together, XO, keep an eye out."

The tall man's eyes twinkled. "All right, I'll spare you two, but Green, I need you here to keep an eye on this lot." He nodded toward the youngsters surrounding Ray. Then he added toward the Australian: "Be back within twenty minutes. I can't spare men to search for you."

"You won't need to, Sir. Thank you."

Green grimaced minutely at the Australian, accepting that he'd have to stay.

They had ducked out of the door before anyone was the wiser. Slattery's glance after them was thoughtful, a misgiving expression hushing over his usually unreadable face.

A weird kind of sharp-eared sleepiness settled over the trained members of the group. Tensions flared explosively when the small family of three stumbled down the road. Burke gave the alarm, and Dr. Scott threw all caution in the wind, entering the clearing while Burke and the XO had their weapons ready.

Slattery found his hesitation in taking the ginger-haired man out justified: some distance behind the little family a lanky figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The Elf made one of her inimitable motions that conveyed the relative safety of their position and loneliness of the three sick people. Once the weapons were down and Rachel Scott closed in on the little girl, Slattery glanced up again only to find the spot empty where the young woman had stood.

Slattery knew they had to act fast if they wanted to grasp any chance they had to help the _Nathan James_. If there truly was "some kind of big gun" waiting to assist the sub, they had to do whatever they could to at least make sure Tom Chandler fought a fair fight. The three men jogged toward the position of the RHIB, vests and weapons slung over their backs.

About three quarters of the way, the XO found himself stumbling, an iron grip on his wrist turning him around and the cold edge of a short knife at his throat.

Almost instantly, the cold hands released him again, and the deep female voice he knew quite well by now pleaded: "XO, I apologize."

Opposite of him, the Australian released Lt. Green – his hold on the blond lieutenant had not been executed quite as far as the girl's had before he had recognized his quarry. Tex, who had lead the group, had only just realised that something was happening to his two comrades and was turning around, the situation already defused.

"What are you two doing so far out?"

Taylor stepped forward and explained urgently: "We saw the family heading your way, and followed their trail. It's clean, but we came upon other tracks. And a little farther down this path, we met with mercenaries." He pointed to a cut over his eye and a bloody bandage around the young woman's upper arm. "They guessed right away that we were navy – seems they had been on the lookout along the coast here and seen the RHIBs pull in. Were coming after the group. We left two dead, one is unconscious, and the last one is back there – We wrapped him up and meant to bring him to you for questioning. He already told us about a rocket cannon that Ramsey had brought up there – don't know for certain it's already there, but the bastard described a location where the range covers a lot of the water in either direction…" He trailed off at the impatient expression on Slattery's face.

"We know part of that already, heading for the RHIB now. You know where to go? Would help if we didn't have to search too far." Receiving nods, he went on: "Taylor with us, Rykers head back to the cabin, Burke can help you with the prisoner."

Taylor shook his head minutely. "Better take her with you, Sir. She's the better tracker."

"Taylor, you ok?" Green picked up on something else.

"Two hits to the head and I believe two broken ribs. We had to get in quick and hard, couldn't let them use their guns… She's somewhat better off." He shrugged expressively.

"All right, but Taylor, head back alone, give Burke the location. He'll know what to do. Rykers, with us."

They took the RHIB north, and landed it at a secluded spot. During the trip on the water there had not been much opportunity for questions, but now, climbing the gentle ridge through the dense vegetation, a quiet interrogation started.

"Tell me about the mercenaries."

The young woman answered succinctly. "Four men, dressed in civilian clothes, armed with long range weapons and knifes."

"Where did you come upon them?"

"We were about to turn back," she shrugged expressively, but with a quickly hidden grimace of pain. "But I heard them speak. One must have slipped and fallen into the water – he was wet through – and was cursing loudly because the com had been destroyed."

"No danger of them having alerted others to our position?"

"I'm fairly certain, XO."

"So y'er telling us four mercenaries against the two of you and all you've got to show are a few ribs, a bump on the head and that?" Tex motioned at the girl's arm.

The Elf did not even grace him with more than a sidelong glance. She was focused on the path they were taking, gaze constantly sweeping the greenery around them. "Are you asking who the better fighter is? I take it you've been on missions with Wolfman. We surprised them, and had less to loose than them. Couldn't let either reach for their guns."

Slattery sneered slightly at the dry answer, catching a bemused glance from Tex. Wolfman's proficiency in a close-quarter fight was well known, less well how the slender creature would fare…

"You always carry that stick around?"

The young woman shrugged, sarcasm in her voice. "The better to spear a boar – or an alligator, I guess."

"No sidearm?"

She grimaced impatiently: "Close quarter silent combat – I prefer wood."

Tex grinned openly. "You can't shoot."

The young woman shot him a glance, realised he was baiting her, and relaxed a fraction. "I don't like them – not that I would get one..." She looked up at the first officer. "Sir, to bring in heavy machinery they'd need to stay on the crest of the ridge, otherwise the floor would give way too much."

"Agreed. Let's pick up the pace. How come Taylor got hit so badly?"

"We went in quickly to disarm them. Two of them had him cornered while I was still busy with the third one, and number four went after him – guess he thought me an easier target. Once mine was down, I went to help Wolfman.- Snake."

They all froze, watching a large cottonmouth slide toward the swampy area at their left.

"I have a keen dislike for snakes," the XO muttered grimly.

Alviarin glanced up at him, a small smile playing around the expressive mouth. Moving forward again, she asked shyly: "Sir, isn't the sub way stronger than the _Nathan James?_ "

Slattery shot the young woman a hard look, then grimaced and answered coolly: "In pure numbers maybe yes. But with a ramshackle crew, a crazy captain and Tom Chandler as their adversary, I say the old _James_ has a fair chance. The captain knows what he's doing, our people are top notch, the iron discipline is good for something."

His words could not chase the worry haunting the girl. "Worst case, he takes the sub down with him?"

Slattery could not be certain she had meant to say that out loud. Her voice shook a little, but the grey eyes were hard and dry.

"Why are you so certain that the mercenaries came in from the north?"

Danny Green looked up expectantly at the first officer's question. Was he sounding out the young woman? But Alviarin Rykers answered guilelessly: "The only road leading into this part of the delta is the Hopedale highway. From then on to carry lorries, they have to stick to what little dry land there is."

Green nodded silently. Tex threw in a question: "You're not from around here?"

"Gods, no, I could not survive in this heat and moisture for long. No, I travelled the Mississippi once – whole length from spring to river delta."

"And Hopedale? Know that hole, too?"

"Fishing village. Nah, the learning experience included the various wetland ecosystems, alligators and mangroves."

"Ah. So what do the surroundings tell you?" The older man questioned only partly sneering.

"We should meet the tracks soon – they must have passed in the last couple of hours. You know the area? The high spot up ahead?" The young woman questioned the blond young Lieutenant.

"Its called Lotus Point. Should be a clearing…"

The XO chimed in: "Overlooking the channel on one side, nice cover of the swamp on the other."

"Can't be far, we almost reached the crest of the ridge." Alviarin grimaced impatiently.

Green nodded his approval of her estimation.

Tex mumbled with deceptive nonchalance: "Maybe we quit talking now, don't want to warn them we're coming…"

The young woman turned with a quicksilver movement and sneered good-naturedly: "If you can keep your mouth shut?"

The men grinned appreciatively, even Slattery grinned wolfishly.

They found the heavy tracks not much later. Following them brought the group quickly to the clearing on the edge overlooking the channel. The _Nathan James_ was heading toward them, already in range of the rocket cannon. Slattery sent the young woman to the back of the column, commanding her sharply to stay out of the fight – she was the only one not equipped with vest and gun.

Alviarin swallowed hard. Seven against three-and-a half was not a healthy ratio. She circled around, behind Tex at first, then alone. Subliminally she was trying to keep the steering of the cannon in view. Instinct told her there should be a guard somewhere – all seven mercenaries on the clearing did not sound right. She found one skinny, tall man right around the second lorry, and took him out with a vicious knock to the side of his head. A second one was drawn out of the forest by the noise, and headed for the already hit Lt. Green. The elf jumped silently on his back, the staff hooked under his chin. He shot in the air a few times, then subsided to unconsciousness. One of the men who were already on the ground lifted his arm slowly, training his gun on Tex. Alviarin grimaced, pulled her knife and took aim. The gun flew to the side.

She knelt down besides Lt. Green, who had just fired off the shot that saved Tex' life. "You bleeding?"

"Just need to catch my breath – go!" the young man ground out.

She watched Slattery dispatch the dark-skinned guy, and reach for the little handheld steering device. A slight movement alerted her that a new face had emerged from the woods. The last mercenary took in the scene with a slightly bemused look, lifted his gun with a snarl and was sighting on the first officer's back.

Without thinking the young woman flew the few steps toward the cannon and pushed the tall first officer aside, screaming an incoherent warning – at the same moment that two last shots sang through the air.

Alviarin found herself sitting on the ground, leaning against the rocket cannon. The resounding boom of its launch and Slattery's satisfied expletive brought relaxation and ease with them. Dimly she felt something warm soaking the cloth of her shirt just under her clavicle. She listened to the other three rockets following the first one, and when the pain came pounding in on her senses, she welcomed it, welcomed the warm metal at her back, Tex' strong arm under her shoulder lifting her up so she could see the silvery destroyer triumphing over the bay. The sub was sinking.

"Green, you ok?" The XO had finished wrapping up his arm with Tex' help and turned to the young man, who's face was still a somewhat tense grimace.

"I'll be fine, Sir."

"Got lucky there – if the calibre had been different, that close a range can do some damage," Tex murmured through where he was trying to damn the blood still welling slowly out of the young woman's bound up shoulder.

"How's the Elf?" Slattery hunkered down besides the two.

Sweat covered the pale cheeks, her eyes were feverish.

"I think she's save to get down to the RHIB, but we should hurry. She's losing a lot of blood."

"Damn, woman, hold on, hear me?" He turned to the two men, grimacing. "Can't lose her now that the worst is over!" The tall man was about to add something, but caught himself.

Her expression worried him. He reached to pull the girl upward. "Tex, take the lead, Green, our back."

They met the rest of the group at the second RHIB, the two prisoners sitting grimly between Taylor and Ray. The younger children were horrified at "their Elf"'s almost-lifeless figure. Rachel Scott wanted to change into the other ship, so she could help the two wounded, but the XO refused, pushing for a quick return to the _Nathan James._


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter twenty-three

Captain Tom Chandler watched Alisha Granderson put down the com device she had just used to arrange the pick up with the RHIBs. The adrenalin was still running fast through his veins. He had congratulated his people on the impeccable behaviour, and now climbed down to speak to the team surrounding Chief Engineer Garnett. They had accomplished what they had promised, and also taken the brunt of the impact. It would sober him to check on the _Nathan James'_ injuries – in moments like these he allowed himself to see the old ship as a living, feeling being, and not just a vessel of war.

He was proud of his people, proud of the ship. The danger might not be over, but this fight was. The sub was down.

"Thank you, Chief Engineer, and the whole team. Well done. Now we can let the civilians back on board," he joked with the crew.

Andrea Garnett had a bump to the head, but assured him she was fine. O'Connor had burns on his fingers, but that also were superficial injuries.

Chandler left the engine room and headed for deck, hard pressed to keep his step even and calm. The RHIBs must have come on board by now: he wanted a report, a quick outline of the next steps with the officers and the president, and a glass of whiskey with Mike. And then at some point a few poignant words with a certain grave young woman.

To his surprise he found Burke and Taylor standing near the railing on deck, with Tex and Rachel Scott just leaving.

Chandler greeted them with the hint of a smile, then noticed Taylor's bandaged forehead. "CPO, what happened?"

"We met with a few mercenaries, Captain. Nothing to worry about."

Chandler kept his stoic composure. "Where can I find the XO?"

"Med station." Burke reported a little uneasily.

That gave the captain a small shock. He conveyed his annoyance at the surprise with a lifted brow, and the serious crew leader grimaced. "Sorry, Sir, I thought you knew. They got back with a few minor injuries."

Chandler nodded and turned on the spot. 'They'? Mike hurt? And he had not been informed via com? The conversations had been succinct, but not to this point!

He walked the narrow gangways without hurry, but also unwilling to linger even a moment.

"... need anything fancy, Doc. Just stitch me up and let me go."

"XO, no disrespect, but…" Doc Rios caught himself mid-sentence, seeing the Captain appear in the doorway.

"… but the Captain will find out anyway?"

Mike Slattery hung his head, rubbing the short hair, then turned with a tight-lipped smile. "Ah, Tom, I should have known better."

"Aye, old friend. What happened?"

The question was directed at the doctor, but Slattery answered himself. "Rather ridiculous through and through. Short range shot. It would probably heal by itself."

"Ah." Chandler let heavy irony seep into his grunt. "You just can't let slip any situation where you can get blood all over yourself. I distinctly remember someone complaining about all the action taking place on the ship…"

The two men exchanged a long glance that dissolved into wry grins. Doc Rios finished up his administrations to the XO's arm and reached for his bloody shirt. "This should heal nicely, but be careful of infection, XO. Sir," he turned to the Captain. "Congratulations on today. Feels much better to know we haven't got that Brit breathing down our necks."

"Thank you. But you know I couldn't have done it without this man and the crew behind me."

Slattery smiled in appreciation, and tried to shrug. His pained grunt made the other two men smile.

Rios squared his shoulders. "Right, let me know if you want anything for the pain. I'll go see if Dr. Milkowsky needs help with the other patient."

"Other…" Chandler turned to his first officer with a frown, only to be met with the envelope he had given him earlier that day – now bloodstained. His thoughts derailed for the moment, he met the blued eyes seriously.

"Here, old friend. Go tell them yourself."

The Captain understood the slightly wistful expression the other tried to hide.

"Mike, you'll find them. I promised you before, I'd help you look for them." Chandler waved the letter gently toward the other man. "I owe you this much at least."

Slattery did not react other than a grateful glance.

"Care for a drink over the details of your coup d'état today?"

The two officers had left the med station and found refuge from the buzzing ship in the captain's office.

"Please." Slattery nodded at the offered Whiskey.

Chandler set two glasses onto the table. "So Dr. Scott got to try the contagious cure?"

"Aye, I only saw the final results – even after that short time, the girl was waving good-bye to us. Pretty impressive."

The captain nodded thoughtfully. This opened up a few variants for how to proceed.

"And your part?"

"The family we picked up and a few mercenaries Taylor and Rykers came upon gave us the information about that rocket cannon. Green, Tex, Rykers and myself went to check it out. Rykers is a fair tracker, kept her bearing. We found the cannon. Had to get through a short firefight. Green took a hit into the vest - to the stomach from short range. Gonna be sore for a while, Doc thinks he's ok though, no internal injuries."

He took a sip, while the Captain's piercing glance fell onto the bandage on his arm. Slattery nodded silently, then pressed his lips together in memory. "That girl of yours saved my life. She's worst off, took a bullet to the shoulder. She pushed me aside… The rest you witnessed. I still know how to help sink a sub."

Tom Chandler was grateful his first officer and friend had been staring into the distance while he retold the last few bits of the events. An icy hand had closed around his heart, stopping his breath momentarily. Alviarin hurt? She'd taken a bullet for his XO? He composed his features, hiding behind his glass.

"Rykers wasn't wearing a vest?"

"No. Originally she wasn't even meant to come with us, but Taylor opted out, he was hurt from their first encounter with the mercs, and she knew the directions. I told her to stay out of the way, but the civilian women on this ship seem to have a problem with navy orders."

Mike tried to joke, but Tom felt far from amused.

"Why didn't you ask for the helo?"

"Tom, that didn't seem necessary. She walked down to the RHIB with my help."

"Yeah, she would, right until she'd bled out." Chandler had gotten up, ostensibly to fill a glass with water.

"I'm sorry I didn't take better care of her. "

That took the commander aback. He met Slattery's glance with a slight frown, aware that he had already given away how upset he was over this revelation. Changing the subject subtly, he asked: "How many were you facing?"

"Between us three initially we counted seven, but she took out two more. Tex got the guy who would have taken me out…"

Chandler took a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "How did Michener fare, and Ray's group?"

"Ah, no problems there. Ray looks up to Michener, who kinda took the kid under his wing. Rykers took care of the younger kids, distracting and entertaining them."

"Taylor and Rykers met with mercenaries?"

"I let them range, secure our surroundings. Ramsey had some posts set up along the channel, they saw the RHIBs come in, followed the group."

Tom murmured: "Presumably to secure the cannon. Thank god that fanatic rests at the bottom of the ocean. The two prisoners are from that group?"

"Yeah. Wolfman mentioned that the girl wasn't into killing…"

The Captain stored that bit of information without comment.

"In all, fantastic work, old friend."

"We did it, Tom. We really did it."

They clinked glasses, wolfish grin meeting the more reserved, even slightly distracted one.

The captain found the blue glance of his next-in-line focused on him with a knowing – and understanding – expression.

"You're itching to go see for yourself that they're alright, Lt. Green … and the girl… Amiright?" the other drawled.

A minute shrug and lifted glass hid whatever was going on inside Tom Chandler. "Got to make certain that _Nathan James_ Baby has a daddy. We've got a short meeting scheduled before night with Michener. Maybe you want to clean up for that," he sneered good-naturedly.

Slattery stood, aware of the slightly evasive answer. He knew his commander quite well by now. But Tom met his eyes straight on once more, and said thoughtfully: "Been quite a ride since Norfolk. Glad to have you back safe on the _James._ "

"Aye, Tom. Same here."

They grasped wrists, Chandler stopping short just in time before he would have hurt his freshly wounded XO, and Slattery taking the warm, hard handshake with humility and gratitude. Tom was a formidable commander, and good friend.

The next morning, the crew meeting over, Rachel Scott's statements done, Chandler left the mess hall and headed for deck. A few minutes of fresh air... He was joined by Mike Slattery almost immediately. From the tension in the other man's shoulders there was something his first officer wanted to talk about.

"I looked in at Green earlier. He seems fine. Taylor, too."

Chandler nodded. "Aye, Green was lucky. Garnett will be fine in a day, too." He hesitated for a moment. "Did you talk to the Elf?"

"No, she was still sleeping. You never looked in on her yesterday?"

"No."

"Alanna sat with her half of the night, said she was feverish and in quite some pain. She lost a lot of blood."

The captain's hands froze on the railing. He had asked for an update on the patients, but not gone to look in on the young woman last evening. He had not trusted himself entirely, and also been afraid to put too much weight on the incident the evening before. This morning he had not yet had a moment to spare.

"She took a turn for the worse?" He was grateful his voice stayed so calm.

"You could say that. Valerie Raymond watched over her after Alanna went to sleep, said the girl was tossing and turning. Hallucinating, high fever…"

Chandler did not move, even though his every fibre was pulling him away.

"Tom, let me speak out of term for a moment. I don't want to overstep, but… That young woman… she means something to you."

Chandler tried to shrug nonchalantly. "She saved my life twice…" His voice was hoarse.

"Yes, and mine once. She'd give hers for yours without a moment's notice. Just saying, there might be something there, something worth considering."

For a long moment the XO's words hung between them. "Mike, I've got a family."

Slattery lifted his hands in a slightly defensive gesture that conveyed apology but also a slight warning. "She might fit in."

Passing the open door to the commandeered and refurbished room they had set up as radio centre, the Captain overheard Valerie Raymond answering a question Lt. Granderson must have posed.

"… just that I sat with her for a few hours last night, and she was talking in her sleep. Like she was scared for the ship, and she called out a few times. Burning with fever…"

"She'll be ok though, right?"

"I sure hope so, but…"

"You can go back to her after we finished with this."

"I would just hate it if she… I mean after everything. She thinks the world of the Captain and the crew… the ship – and now she helped save the day, and in her head, she's still fighting…"

"She never woke up?"

"She was never lucid, that's what I mean. Blabbed on about leaving, about going… somewhere…She doesn't have any family left..."

Tom Chandler could not listen any longer, hastening his stride. He entered the medical bay with the blood singing in his ears.

"Doc, how's the patient?"

Rios looked up from some charts he was scribbling on with heavy-lidded eyes. "Captain. She's just woken up. Night was bad."

"The injuries?"

"We got the bullet out, bleeding stopped finally. She lost a lot of blood. Wound is clean and should heal well. The clavicle was only lightly scraped, and she'll regain full movement of the arm. The cut on her arm was another problem – deep and with a serrated knife, there was infection, but I'm confident we got that under control, too. She got a couple of bad bruises to her lower back – CPO Taylor said from an earlier fight than the gun-shot wound. She'll recover, but should take some time."

"Thank you. You look tired, petty officer."

The shorter man shook his head. "No rest for the wicked. Dr Milkowsky said to keep the patient awake for an hour or so, make sure she's lucid and stable, see she takes to the infusion. And then I have to head over to help with the production of the cure. Alanna Mills or Miss Raymond will come later, so Rykers will not be alone until she's stable for certain."

"You can leave now. I'll sit with Miss Rykers until Mills turns up."

"Sir? Are you certain?"

A slight lift of his eyebrows conveyed enough resolve to the medical officer to have him tidy up the desk with a few touches. Before leaving, he addressed the Captain once more. "Sir, I gave her the usual dose of painkiller half an hour ago, as per Dr Milkowsky's orders. If she's still in pain, she could have another half dose, but no more until two o'clock in the afternoon. She's still feverish, but not too badly any more."

Chandler nodded gravely. "Go, Rios, get some rest."

"Thank you, Sir."

The young woman was lying propped up against pillows in the same bunk where he had visited her – _a few months ago?_ – after the Tsunami had hit the ship. Eerily reminded of the moment, Chandler stopped in the door and regarded her for a long silent minute.

While she was pale, there were bright spots on her cheeks, the grey eyes were shining feverishly from deep in her sockets. Her fingers were clenched tightly, scrunching up the covers. Her left arm was wrapped from throat to elbow.

She had frozen when he entered the room.

When she finally met his calm glance, it was with a look of such pure apprehension, the captain almost grinned. He pulled over a chair and sat down with measured movements.

"You're not hallucinating." He let some sarcasm seep into his voice.

It worked, her face cleared a little. The pulse at the side of her neck drew his glance – butterfly wings…

"How's your pain level?"

"I'm good, thank you." Her voice betrayed raw nerves. She was speaking through chattering teeth.

"Are you cold?" He almost automatically reached out to touch a white-knuckled hand, but she pulled back minutely, eyes huge. Chandler leaned back, relaxing consciously.

"I hear I have you to thank for my XO's life," he tried again.

"I did what anybody would have done." She spoke too fast.

"The way Tex tells it, he had not even noticed the last man. You took a bullet for Mike Slattery. We owe you."

Shaking her head a little stiffly, the young woman replied a somewhat breathlessly: "He h-had taken control of the cannon, h-his back turned. Time was running out t-to save the _Nathan James._ "

At least she was talking to him. "I am grateful, though that was a high price to pay." He found himself frowning deeply at the vision of the narrow face - deathly pale and unmoving.

"H-How is the _Nathan James?_ We could see her in the bay…"

Right, she'd only just woken up. "We took a rather heavy hit, had to shut off some compartments. Chief Engineer Garnett has a slight concussion, other than that she's good." She blinked at him, about to ask another question. He could guess at the content. "They're all fine. Green, Taylor, the XO."

"Where will you go from h-here?"

 _'_ _You'? It used to be 'we'…_ "Up the river, to spread the cure."

"Rachel…?"

Chandler looked away for the first time. "That is up to the president now." He did not want to discuss the doctor, there was something else he needed to bring up. "We must wait how things proceed. Michener will tape a video message and ask the population to meet us, the cure has a few limitations that must be considered."

"St Louis?" she considered aloud, glanced away tiredly.

He could read her thoughts. "Alviarin." She'd talked about leaving…

She swallowed convulsively, a painful expression entering the grey eyes. She glanced down at her hands and relaxed the dead grip she had on the blanket. Her breath came fast and shallow.

"Why did you stop me?"

Her eyes flew up to meet his glance questioningly.

"Talking about the island…"

Alviarin lifted a hand toward her face thoughtlessly – grimacing in pain, she lowered it back to her lap. Staring down at the narrow fingers intertwining, she searched for words. The silence spread, but not uncomfortably. Finally, the young woman lifted her gaze again.

"Because I knew what you were going to say, and in that moment I could not- " She broke off, biting her lip.

"You knew what?" Chandler regarded her with outward calm, giving her as much time as she would take. He only knew he had to address this thing between them.

"You were sending me away, going to risk your life… I understood, I did – I mean, I do, but it was horrible. And… I knew, I think I always knew… on the island, you were not yourself, your head, the concussion, your memories afterwards. What happened, that was not you, that was… I don't know. You did not remember! So I never… I mean… it did not mean anything. I knew that. I accepted that. You had only just lost your wife, the world was in chaos. But to hear you say it, in that moment, I could not bear it. If I had to say goodbye to you, I wanted to… to take that magical memory with me. I would not give it up. Can't you understand that?"

She was shivering like a leaf, hands twisting the blanket again. It seemed that once started, she could not stop.

"But then… what I did, I should be sorry, it was unforgivable, but I can't be sorry. I know I destroyed this… beautiful thing that was… but you wanted to talk about the island. I thought you did not remember… I thought I would never see you again." The deep voice had dropped down to a whisper. She was shaking her head in utter dejection.

"Alviarin…" Chandler leaned forward.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I should not have d-done what I d-did. I know you're still grieving, I can see it in your eyes sometimes."

Slowly the captain reached for the uninjured hand. She startled, but this time he did not pull back, engulfing the hot, fluttering fingers in his cool, large hand. Her gaze seemed to lock onto their entwined fingers as if magnetic.

"Elf, listen. What happened the other night was not just you. You may have kissed me, but I kissed you back. I did not want to let you go." Oh god, to say that out loud - the memory brought so much heat with it, he paused and swallowed. "That moment was as much my fault."

Considering the narrow face with warmth filling him, he faced that he was not willing to let her leave his life. Not if he could help it. The tension in her whole body was painful to see. Chandler realised with a start that she was waiting for him to tell her there was nothing in the future for them.

"But… I h-heard the story of Danny and Kara. I… broke the rules…I will leave the ship, go my own way. Y-you won't have to…"

"Stop, Alviarin. That's the fever talking. I won't make excuses, what happened between us should not have happened on the ship, but I will certainly not discipline you in any way. I would have to start with myself…"

He let his words sink in, watched her relax slightly. Slowly she lifted her head a little, grey eyes meeting his with an expression he could not read.

"Not on the ship?" she whispered almost inaudibly.

Chandler frowned. "You lost me."

"You said 'not… on the ship'."

"Yes, I did. And it should not happen again – on the ship." He smiled a little, aware how the three simple words seemed to rise the temperature of the air between them. "It was a great kiss."

She stared at him with wide eyes, a slow blush rising into the pale features. Then suddenly a sleepy smile appeared. "See, I am hallucinating."

Chandler leaned forward, let his thumb graze her knuckles lightly.

"Yes, I am still grieving for my wife. Sometimes angry over her death. But I need to know what this is between us. I'm not willing to let you slip away." He suppressed a shudder as he realised the double meaning of his words. His voice came a little harshly: "I want to walk through St. Louis with you, I want to see you meet my children again." _I want to take care of you, hear you laugh, hear you sing again._

Alviarin drew a shaky breath and shook her head at the tear that ran down her cheek. The captain reached out to wipe at the drop of moisture, but the young woman leaned against his touch in an unconscious movement that had his heart clench. She closed her eyes with a deep breath, making two more tears spill over.

With acute misgiving Tom Chandler realised how weak she really was.

"Promise you'll fight this, work to get better." he asked urgently.

The look she gave him then was something so glowing, so full of yearning that he pulled her knuckles to his lips.

"I'm scared to fall asleep, for fear of waking up to find this a dream. Sir."

He chuckled over the slender fingers, but turned serious quickly. "Say my name."

Their gaze locked, the well known but ever new spark back with force.

"Tom. Tom Chandler."

He pressed his lips to the back of her fingers once more and gently lowered her hand onto the blanket. He had to work to keep his voice even.

"You should sleep, young woman. You have two or three days at most until we reach St. Louis. You have to be well by then."

Alviarin let her head sink to the side, feverish eyes never leaving his face. "Can you stay a little longer?"

He cupped her cheek in his hand again. "I'll stay until Mills or Miss Raymond come to look after you."

She smiled a little, tension still in her eyes. "Will you come back?"

He stroke a thumb over her eyebrow gently, worry over the heat under her skin rising again. Her eyes fluttered close.

Chandler took a breath. "Remember the last time we were in this same situation?" His voice held a challenge. He succeeded: the grey eyes flew up to his face.

"I promised you I would explain to you why I jumped to conclusions concerning you."

Confusion and apprehension flew over the hollow-cheeked face.

With a smile he taunted her: "We could talk about _that_ tonight, or tomorrow, or either of the next times I come to see you, Miss Rykers."

In answer she closed her eyes again with a dreamy smile, the tension gone. The slender fingers of the good hand crept up to rest on his broad paw. "Say my name," she whispered, already half gone.

Chandler smiled. "Sleep, Alviarin Erin Elf Rykers."

When Valerie Raymond came a little later to take up the vigil besider her friend's bed, to her surprise and growing respect she found the Captain sitting there, staring into space until he noticed her enter. He acknowledged her while simultaneously motioning for silence. Val glanced at Alvi - the girl was sleeping, but calmly. Even her skin-tone seemed healthier. She gave the tall man a relieved glance, and when he nodded a greeting in return, she pulled the chair over to the table, took out her laptop silently and started to work.

AN: Ok, here it goes... feedback appreciated. I've been overwhelmed by the PMs and reviews I got. really grateful, please keep it up!


	24. Chapter 24

_AN: Thanks for following and favoriting, most of all for the reviews. Sorry it took me so long to update, RealLife intervening. All right, here goes nothing..._

 _[and the usual disclaimers - own nothing and nobody except my OC.]_

Chapter 24

While planning the approach to Vicksburg, Chandler found himself thinking of the future for the first time in long months with hope and confidence. Looked forward to having his children with him without any misgivings, any reserve. He was impatient to explore this bond with the Elf deeper, see whether Ashley and Sam would take to her.

He would have asked Doc Rios for a report on the patients, had not Green turned up on deck, looking almost none the worse, the glowing Lt. Foster underlining further that the young man had suffered no greater damage.

News on the young woman came from an unexpected direction: Valerie Raymond sidled up to him somewhat warily one moment during the late afternoon. The _Nathan James_ was sitting still, waiting for the last hours in Vicksburg to pass.

The computer engineer gave him a sidelong glance.

Chandler, half expecting bad news, an appearance of McDowell, or another update on the radio situation, turned his head to look at her fully. "Miss Raymond, do you have anything for me?"

"Nothing on the radio-front, no, sorry. I just… wanted to take the opportunity…"

"Well?"

Her eyes lit up. "Alvi – she's better. I don't know what you said to her, or if it was just that you came to see her – when she woke up earlier she was lucid, even asked after something to eat. Doc only gave her soup – but you should have seen her face!"

Chandler felt the tension he was carrying around ease a little bit. "Glad to hear that."

"I mean I don't even know if we are still friends, but I'm happy she's coming along. She thinks the world of you, and I think it meant something to her that you came to see her."

"Really." He could not quite keep the amusement out of his voice.

An apprehensive glance told him she would try to alleviate her words, so he cut in dryly: "Miss Raymond, do you have any plans for when we reach St. Louis?"

Amusement played over the sharp features. "What, you'd let me go?"

Chandler regarded her calmly, considering many things. He had not yet talked to Michener about this young woman.

"Oh, things have been a little crazy lately. I think I might stick around a bit, hang on to Alvi, maybe see where the radio crew heads to – I like to keep working. Network's there, could be of use. I'd like to lend a hand…"

"Do you have family?"

"Parents live in the Silicon Valley. I know they're holed up somewhere, so far safe. Yeah, I'd like to look them up at some stage." She shrugged. "We haven't the best relationship."

Somehow Chandler could picture a younger version of her, shrugging her shoulders in a brush-off motion and slamming a door behind her. "Maybe there's a chance to patch things up, now?"

Raymond glanced up at him a little shamefacedly. "Yeah, maybe." She looked out over the city once more and nodded at him. "I'll get back to the radio, Captain Chandler."

* * *

Michener stormed out of the room in self-righteous anger, leaving Chandler looking after him with mixed feelings. He had just turned back to the table, analysing the situation – Jeter _had_ acted indiscreetly, but in that man's case especially leniency was allowed. And he had not only come forward, he had tried at once to lessen if not possibly reverse his unguarded words.

Mike Slattery chose this moment of half-angry reverie to enter the command room.

"Everything all right? Michener did not look happy…"

The captain explained shortly what had happened, knowing what his first officer would say.

"He's a bit of a hypocrite, quick to forget, this president of ours."

Chandler grimaced, turning away from the angry blue eyes of the first officer.

"Tom – he doesn't have to be perfect. Wherever we end up, he's gonna have aides and mayors and secretaries in no time."

Quietly the captain added: "McDowell riled him up. He's been tense since the morning."

Slattery pressed his lips together in that well-known gesture of discontent. But before he could voice even more anger, Chandler cut in, not unkindly.

"Mike, enough. I dismissed Jeter, nothing he can do. How's the ship?"

Slattery gave his report, reminding the captain again of the low fuel levels. Otherwise there was nothing of pressing concern.

Mike Slattery could tell the commander expected him to take his leave now, but he hesitated, gripping a chair's back with both hands.

"Tom, I meant to apologize for this morning – I _did_ speak out of term."

Chandler raised a single eyebrow, pursing his lips ever so slightly.

Mike grimaced. He should have kept his mouth shut in the first place.

"You never do anything without reason, and you didn't visit Rykers last night." He shrugged, resisting the itch to squirm under the calm gaze. "I felt bad for her – she took the bullet for me… just seemed out of character." And now he was over-explaining.

Tom regarded him levelly. "Nothing to be sorry for, there wasn't a word untrue of what you said."

Mike frowned, waiting for the other to continue. Should he leave it at that? But Chandler had caught the inquisitive look, and grimaced slightly.

"Mike… Milkowsky told me she was delusional, half unconscious. Said he hoped for the night to get her settled and responding to the liquid. I could not in good conscience go see her when she wasn't lucid."

"You mean she could have said something, hallucinated… with people there to hear?"

The piercing blue eyes betrayed real anger for the first time. "What about something she herself would not feel comfortable sharing? Would you have me take advantage of her weakened state? Trust me, the temptation was there."

"Ah, you're right… I'm sorry."

Chandler looked like he would retort something more, but swallowed the words finally. His hands clenched at his sides.

From his expression – as much as he let show – Slattery could tell that the decision had not been an easy one. He considered his superior for a moment, envy crawling around inside him. So Chandler knew – or suspected. He'd been right, his Captain had a soft spot for the young woman.

* * *

Later that evening, Tom Chandler could reassure himself of Alviarin's rapidly improving health by simply looking at her. Her colour was improving, the angry red swelling visible where the light skin was not covered by the bandage was still there, but even that seemed to have taken on a healthier tint.

The way her face light up when he entered the room, blood rushing to her cheeks, made his own smile widen. He had been looking forward to this moment.

"Feeling better?" Gone was the stoic captain's front, he could hear the relief in his own voice.

"Much better, thank you." The shy delight in her eyes reached a spot deep inside him. "I even had some soup."

"Imagine that!" The comically dry tone she had adopted made it easier for him to settle down and sneer: "That was the highlight of your day? Who did your hair?" The heavy braid lying over her shoulder was freshly done and shone with dark amber tones.

"Val helped me – onehanded braiding is not something I can do on my own hair."

"Did people keep you updated on the progress of inoculating north America – or non-progress as it was?"

Alvi turned more serious. "Yes, Stephen came and told me Vicksburg was a bit of a bust, but we are on the move again? Reaching Memphis tomorrow?"

"Aye." He sketched out the CMC's inopportune words and subsequent aftermath.

The girl surprised him. "I believe people will come to the docks in Memphis. With Val helping, news should spread fast, even with the hiccup of Jeter being scared for his people. The trust in the navy is there, you'll see."

He watched the lively face with warmth and confidence rising. Meeting his eyes, shyness returned into her features, and she looked down at her hands, lying more relaxed now on the sheets.

"Tex left in the morning."

That made her glance up alertly. She searched his face for a moment, then swallowed whatever words had been on the tip of her tongue. Was she thinking about Rachel Scott?

"He went to look for his daughter. Hopefully he'll be our eyes and ears along the roads…"

Oh God, was he nervous?

It had been an intense day, the waiting got to him more than action ever did, and after the talk with Mike he had felt unsettled – now, with the grey eyes searching his face watchfully, he could feel his heartbeat picking up speed. He had sat down on the chair her last visitor had left a respectable distance from the bed. The need to move closer, to touch the slender hand lying there so innocently threatened to overwhelm him.

He tried again: "How's the wound? Any pain?"

She smiled shyly with a little lift of her chin. "I'm off the painkillers, for six hours now. They make me woozy." She met his eyes with the self-deprecating laughter he liked so much. "As witnessed this morning."

He held her gaze, watched her turn serious. When questions threatened to form in the grey eyes, her hand inching unconsciously toward him, he pushed the chair toward the bed with the same slow, decisive motion that engulfed the slender fingers in his hand.

"Are we done with the small talk, Miss Rykers?"

The glow was back in her eyes. Chandler had not reckoned with the melodic sound of the surprised chuckle she could not hold back.

Her laughter was delightful. This would be easier on deck, or off the _Nathan James,_ but he had promised her – and there were a few things he wanted laid open before they went a step further. "I promised you some explanations." He lifted his chin slightly at her. "Will you listen?" His question entailed an offer for her to pull back. If she refused, he'd go his way, she'd go hers. Either way, there was no turning back now.

The young woman searched his face for a long moment, then pulled her hand out of his fingers, laboriously sat up a little more and with a pained, serious frown finally tilted her head. "I will listen."

"The island. I remember every moment. Your voice, your presence, your hands…" He hesitated, grasped her fingers again and added calmly: "I remember the cotton wool surrounding my brain functions. I trusted 'Erin', felt safe with her, and close to her. She was my tether to reality, and the easy rapport between us made what happened possible." Looking down at their joined hands, he stated the words slowly: "I kissed 'Erin'. In that moment it seemed a natural thing to do – after all, she had slept in my arm, would carry me down to my ship." Her fingers twitched in his, but he only tightened his grasp. "That moment on deck, when you climbed the flank with Lt. Mills on your back… the memories came back with a shock. Understand that as Captain I could only ignore the hazy dream-like moments that were our stay on the island." He swallowed.

Looking up at the almost inaudible gasp, the expression in the wide grey eyes told him of the turmoil he was arising in the young woman. "I do," she whispered, "I do understand. I thought you were sounding out if my story held…"

Chandler frowned and waited for her to continue.

"… when you asked me about the Inuit tribes."

"Ah." He shook his head minutely. "That was honest curiosity. It only occurred to me _after_ Mike would not have told you about my memory-issues."

They stared at each other for a long moment, the captain thinking of the difficult hours that had followed that moment of realisation. He stood and paced a few steps.

"As to what went before that…"

"Tom…" her voice shook. "You don't have to."

"It was the arctic engineering that really set me off. I was going down a dark road after Baltimore, Darien's death and having to leave my children again. Then Ramsey and the sub turned up, all hope set on the _Solace_ gone in those few hours. You had found your way into the crew quietly and quickly, gone to work on more than one front. Wolf and Ravit were newcomers, too, but they fit in seamlessly. Had Ramsey managed to plant a spy, were not two UN soldiers less likely than one unobtrusive, beautiful young woman who just happened to work in engineering?"

Tom Chandler flinched at the sarcastic grunt that emerged from the bed.

"Baltimore was a horrible surprise, but I don't have to tell you about Governor Granderson. I guess after that I was willing to see darkness where there was none, trusted the military additions more than the civil one."

He stood staring down at the reclining figure, aware of little but the grey eyes, the blood pulsing at the base of her neck to the same rhythm as the blood in his ears.

"Another truth of it is I felt guilty for being attracted to you, mere months after Darien's death. I took that out on myself, and you. At first I thought it was a purely physical attraction – that happens, even to married men, in tight quarters like the ship.

Every time we talked you managed to unsettle me with your questions, your way of looking at things. You gained the respect of some of my most valued crew. I was drawn to you and fought against it, fought with the death of my wife, the guilt of having been too late. That song you sang was her favourite. She would have liked you. My children liked you." He gulped down a breath, struggling for the stoic calm that was his usually. "All the while you kept to yourself, spoke without accent, seemed contradictory, quick to evade personal questions…"

The young woman grimaced, her breath coming in quick gulps. "I sound as shady as the Achilles."

Her dry words settled the subject back onto the gently humming floor of the cabin.

"I punished you – and me – because I could not let myself be distracted from what was at stake. I jumped to conclusions."

The young woman held out a hand with a shy, helpless finality that elicited a small smile from the Captain. "Will you sit down again?" After he had settled, she touched his fingers. "Thank you, for explaining. But no more. I can't…" she pushed a hand through her hair.

Up close he noticed the feverish glint to her eyes. Touching her face gently, he frowned. "Your fever's up again."

"Doc said that would happen in the evening." She sounded slightly frustrated, but glad of the change of subject.

"You're not used to being sick."

Alviarin smiled tiredly. "No." She slid a little lower so she could lie back more comfortably. Her eyes were still wide, a little haunted. Her breath was coming a little faster. His words had affected her. He could see the effort it took her to ask in a calm voice: "Did you talk to Sam and Ashley?"

All right, he would leave it for the moment. "Aye, they're good. Excited about the _James_ crawling up the Mississippi."

"I understand that. She's a sight." Her grin was so natural and understanding. He considered her for a long moment, until her eyes darkened and she blushed. But with a breath she rallied once more. "How is the ship?"

"Almost out of fuel. We'll be coasting into St. Louis." He kind of liked to see her fluster under his gaze – after all, she had the same effect on him.

"Can we talk about Rachel, and the President?"

"No," he answered calmly. "I will not go back on my word."

"That's not what I meant," she threw in carefully.

Ah, he understood. "No again, Alviarin. I need to let this play out."

Now it was her that studied him for a long while, understanding and something else in her eyes. He trusted that she would recognize not only his need for the President to prove himself in that respect, but also his silence. Finally she gave him an amused smile and murmured: "I had kinda hoped she'd escape with Tex…"

Chandler grimaced slightly at her words, but refrained from comment. St. Louis was close. He changed the subject. "I hear there has been no luck with that doctor in Hawaii?"

"Val's been trying, but nothing so far. The guys in Banff are fine though."

"I asked you once after your family. There's nobody left?"

Her eyes were haunted. "No."

"How can you be certain?"

"Uncle Mike and myself were the last…"

The tone of her voice made his heart ache for her. "Even before the red flu?"

"Yes. The twins died in Sudan, you probably heard about Sir Francis when it happened. There is one other Rykers, but he lived in Thailand last I heard, and Uncle Mike had no contact with him. No idea if he'd be even interested in being looked up." She hesitated for a second, then met his eyes. "Only Uncle Paul might be alive, and he'd find me before I would even know where to start."

"Paul Rykers? You haven't mentioned him before."

"He's the one whose voice in my head got me through the interrogation with the XO after the island…" A slight sneer curled her lip. It was an enticing thing to watch.

Chandler pulled himself to the present with an effort. Her words brought another memory. "You asked if you were a suspect again, for knowing Valerie Raymond."

"Well," she drawled, trying for his sarcastic intonation with surprising results. "It wasn't too far a jump. But to be honest, I was so wrung out after Andy's death – the world was not making much sense to me."

Their eyes met, the connection springing to life instantly. Her lips twitched. "You set me straight quite profoundly."

"I'm glad." He had been thrown by her assumption. Automatically his thoughts touched what had occurred between them just minutes later, and the widening of her pupils told him quite clearly that she was following his train of thought. He lifted her hand to his cheek and murmured: "I'm looking forward to a real date."

"Me too." She hesitated, suddenly shy, but told him quietly: "I'm a little scared." When he waited for her to elaborate, she blushed. "Of this -" a slight motion with eyes and bandaged hand, "- between you and me." Pink tongue darting over her lips somewhat nervously.

"One step at a time." He kissed the long fingers gently, consciously trying for a lighter tone. There were a lot of things he was looking forward to. "We'll figure it out. – You look tired, I should let you sleep."

"Oh, I slept the whole day." But her lids were heavy, her voice dreamy. "I used to be afraid of stepping off the _Nathan James_. Of facing what the world has become. But now I want to stand under the gateway arch with you and watch your face, while you realise that you fulfilled what you set out to do."

Chandler stared at her, mesmerised. There had been subliminal heat in her voice gaining intensity, and with a halting breath she pulled the hand he was still cradling against his cheek out of his fingers and let them glide over his brow, light as a butterfly.

"I still can't believe this is true. I was half afraid your visit this morning was a figment of my imagination."

He pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist in answer. He felt the shiver run over her, heard the slight gasp. "Enough, Elf. You need sleep. I need to go back to being the Captain."

"Do you think McDowell will make trouble?"

"I don't think we've heard the last of him. You concentrate on getting stronger. Memphis tomorrow, St. Louis the day after. Think of the gateway. Maybe you can come up with something more than just watching my face, Miss Rykers." He let the undercurrents run free in his voice, sneering gently. Her furious blush and shaky intake of air were his reward. It took some effort to let go of the slender fingers. Her eyes were burning into his, his last impression a smile that carried surprise and innocence and … desire.


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

„Alvi, hi. Good to see you back on your feet. How're you feeling?" Valerie joined her old friend at the railing.

"Thanks Val. Bit wobbly still, but getting there. Any news?"

"Not yet. But Tex is there, at the college, and in contact with the ground crew. Helo is on the way."

"Yeah, that I heard." The dark haired young woman pulled the braid over her shoulder and threw the red haired one an amused glance. "Still feels strange, to have the skyscrapers so near…"

"You were below decks the whole time we crawled up the Mississippi."

Alviarin grinned, trying to downplay the tension. "Look at you, genius nut-head programmer all savvy on the navy vocabulary!"

Valerie grunted with surprised laughter. "Evil. Can't all of us have an uncle in the navy."

"You just won't admit that it's been a good ride."

They grinned at each other companionably.

"Feels good being on the right side." Valerie admitted somewhat sheepishly.

Alviarin knew not to press the issue, though she took a breath of satisfaction.

"Do you think Memphis will be a bust, too?"

Valerie shrugged. "I sure hope it won't. You?"

"Nah, I trust your network, and the common sense of the people. Even those who saw Ramsey's videos must know that the _Nathan James_ would never come up the River and not go to Pensacola or Key West or any of the Florida Naval bases to dry-dock. She's badly damaged, even the messages coming in commented on that. No way any sane commander would take her anywhere else." Alviarin bit her lip. Her nervousness over the ongoing mission expressed itself in the heated words.

Pulling a strand of coloured hair out of her face the other woman stared silently for a moment. "I never thought that far. Course you're right – there'd be no reason for the ship to come up the Mississippi and _not_ deliver the cure."

"That's a conclusion I would not have expected from you, Miss Rykers," a new voice threw in from behind them.

"XO! Any news?"

"It's over. Cure's delivered. Tex, his daughter, Green, Mills, Wolfman and the rest kept the people in place until the helo came. They'll give us details as soon as they're back. On to St. Louis."

Both young women had turned fully toward the tall man.

"Nice." Valerie punched the air in a gesture of victory.

The Elf gave the first officer a brilliant smile. "They're all ok?"

"Yeah. They even got McDowell."

Alviarin reached out to grasp the first officer's hand for a short moment.

"Alvi, is that a tear?" the computer scientist sneered good-naturedly.

"Oh shut up. Not everyone's as cold-hearted as you!"

The XO could not help his own grin in the face of the two women's exuberance. But then he took a closer look at them. "Elf, you sit down now, and enjoy the scenery. That's an order. You're pale."

Chuckling, the girl sat down on the deck-chair friendly hands had supplied her with when she came on deck for the first time in long days of convalescence. Her arm still rested in a sling, but at least the bandages were small enough now to hide under regular clothes.

Sharing a glance made companionable by the shared concern for the injured young woman, Slattery and Valerie Raymond watched Alviarin lean back, closing her eyes with a deep breath.

"Gods, I feel all tingly."

Slattery's lips twitched. "Sure that's not from the low blood pressure?"

That made the subject of his sneering chuckle again, pressing the good hand against her collarbone with a pained grimace. "Laughing hurts, but it feels so nice. There's hope at last."

Valerie Raymond slowly glanced back over her shoulder, over the skyline and the Desoto Bridge. She had turned serious at the other woman's words.

"Wonder what they went through…"

That made her two companions turn thoughtful, too. She continued almost as if to herself: "Sometimes I wonder who was worst off…"

A long moment passed with nobody uttering a word, then the deep voice from the chair commented in a neutral tone: "We both think of what _we_ went through. But wasn't… I mean… Wasn't _that_ the hardest? Coming back from a leisure cruise in the arctic to find the world had collapsed? We had warning, some earlier than others, had at least some opportunity to deal with what was going on. You had no warning, no journey, just a sudden slap in the face - facts. The hardest decisions to make. Face the responsibilities… of your coming – not late, but unblemished. Pure in a way." She opened her eyes then, glance falling on the tall man staring at her with an unreadable expression. As if realising she had spoken out loud, the young woman sat up. "Gods, XO… I apologize."

"Aren't you full of surprises today?" The first officer had lost the light tone.

"Geez, Alvi. Sure your fever's down?" Even the red-head was staring at her friend. With a conscious shrug and wry grimace, she told Slattery: "She's always had a poetic streak whenever you least expected it."

The first officer accepted her effort to lighten the mood and nodded acceptingly, eyes still serious.

"That might be a question for the history books." Captain Chandler and Chief Engineer Garnett had closed in on the three without any of them noticing.

Alviarin blushed deeply, biting her lip. She made to stand up, but the commander's broad hand on her shoulder stopped any effort.

"No, Miss Rykers, no need to get up. Glad to see you back on deck finally." The Captain's words were measured.

The blond Chief Engineer on the other hand gave her part-time-apprentice a full smile and said: "I second that, Alviarin. Good to see you back on your feet."

Colour still high in her cheeks, the young woman tried to answer nonchalantly. "Thanks, Chief Engineer. It's nice to be out in the air again."

A momentary lull overcame the group, too serious had been the mission and the words spoken.

It was the blond woman who broke the silence. "So, am I the only one who has never been to St. Louis? I'm really curious about the gateway arch."

Valerie seconded in her direct way: "With good cause, ma'am. It's a sight. Even more so if you know the mechanics behind it…" catching the bemused expressions all around and the lifted brows of the reclining mathematician, she halted. "Sorry, nerd going overboard again."

Surprisingly, it was Tom Chandler who settled the issue. "Not at all, Miss. It is a feat, and a sight to see."

"Fit for a new capital?" That was Mike Slattery, all dry and short again.

"The president thinks so, and I have to concur. There is some infrastructure left. If things work out tomorrow, rebuilding can spread from there."

Staring out over Memphis, the chief engineer stated somewhat forlornly: "I can hardly believe we made it this far." Pain echoed in her voice. She turned back to the group and asked of the other two women: "What details can you tell me about the arch?"

Valerie and Alviarin shared a glance, understanding passing between them. Valerie started: "It's parabolic, or a cosine curve, however you look at it."

Alviarin shook her head impatiently and with perfect comedic timing pushed imaginary glasses higher onto her nose, rubbed her hands together slowly as if shedding chalk, and declaimed: "It's a catenary curve. Takes into account how the differing strain of weight influences the profile of the cross section. The building carries itself. The height at the vertex is the same as the diameter on the ground. The focus is only about forty feet from the top. At really high winds, the vertex can move up to forty-six centimetres from its quiescent point."

"Nerd." Valerie Raymond commented ever so dryly, calling forth laughter in all surrounding faces. Even the Captain could not help a slight twitch of his mouth.

Alviarin gave the other woman a falsely-annoyed glance, relaying grateful amusement underneath. "We did this at Anchorage until we could recite it in our sleep…"

"Lovely roundup, Elf." Andrea Garnett could sound dry, too.

The sound of the returning helo had the five faces lift to the heavens.

Before the grey chopper had passed over them, the Captain shifted his gaze minutely to glance at the reclining young woman. He could see the moment she felt him looking at her and met his eyes. A look of wary triumph, shy pride and sudden heat passed between them, uplifting with promise.

A sailor's call to the two officers interrupted the group. The RHIBs would return any moment, bringing the prisoner onto the ship. Chandler and Slattery left, faces turned unreadable once more.

"So how is it going with you, chief engineer?" Alvi looked up at the blond woman with a thoughtful expression in the light eyes. Valerie had turned to face the city once more.

"Well enough, I suppose. We're really low on fuel, but we knew that. It's gonna be almost a gamble to reach St. Louis."

"I guess we'll swim if we had to." Val spoke through the side of her mouth.

"The left-overs from the fight with the sub are under control, more can't really be done with the resources we have."

"Is she running a bit lower than before or is that my imagination?"

"No, you're right. Of course we took on some water, the pumps are running full time, and it's no big issue, but only because we are on our way to a dry-dock."

"So we're losing a bit more fuel than we'd usually need?"

A small smile flitted over the pale, narrow face of the engineer. "Look at you. Got a good feel for the old _James._ Yes, she's working harder at every step. But she's tough. We'll make it."

"So once there, do you have any plans? Anybody to look for…?"  
"Val…" the dark haired girl had tried to interrupt her old friend.

Garnett grimaced slightly, and shrugged expressively.

"Ah, shit, me and my big mouth. I'm sorry, Ma'am. Alvi, next time just kick me?"

"You and me both, eejit."

"None of us came out of this unscathed, Miss Raymond. With eighty percent of the world population dead, it would be unfair to expect special treatment."

"Chief…" Alviarin reached out a hand. "Statistics don't make personal losses easier."

A lifeless grin flew over the older woman's face. "True. But being left behind…"

"Oh, Ma'am…" the grey eyes looked up pleadingly. "That just means we have to stick even harder together. It's a responsibility, going forward, and will need energy and strength – but it will be worth it! Look, there come Wolfman and Mills, they can tell us what went down…"

Val watched the Elf with slight bemusement, until she caught a look of such desperate energy, conveying anger and plea and misgiving, that the computer engineer did a double take.

"Husband and daughter," the young woman mouthed at her, as Garnett hailed the two soldiers coming toward them. Val gave an understanding twitch of her chin.

The two men joining them now were exuding exhilaration and triumph. Alviarin grinned at the sight – Miller, the redhead, was the perfect picture of the young sailor who came back from a successful mission, high on adrenalin, padding along on almost too-large feet, proud of himself, not quit managing to imitate the restrained, calm gait of his neighbour. Wolfman, outwardly the opposite of his young 'charge' – because that was what the boy had become – was all dark, well-contained energy, his experience tempering the triumph that shone from the black eyes. Both greeted the Chief Engineer with respectful nods, and the two younger women with very correct ones in Millers' case, and slightly challenging sneer in Wolfman's.

"XO told us you saved the day…" Alviarin smiled at them, willing away the tension left from before.

"Aye, Tex made that happen, and then we had our work cut out for us." Taking turns, interrupting each other laughingly, the two men described what had taken place on the college campus. "I'm particularly proud of red-head here – he had one of them immunes curl himself around his biceps, just standing there cool as ice." Taylor grinned at the predictable blush and proud embarrassment the younger marine tried to downplay.

Even the blond chief engineer could not help a grin, so infectious was their banter.

"I'm glad of your success, Miller, Taylor."

"So you've been sitting here enjoying the scenery?" Taylor asked of the convalescent. "Glad to see you look better, Elf."

"Well, I couldn't stay down there with so much at stake. And the air is nicer up here." They exchanged understanding grins.

"So it's on to St. Louis tomorrow?" Miller turned to the chief engineer.

"Aye."

"You worried about the fuel levels?" That was Taylor again.

"That's gotten around quickly…."

"No, Ma'am, we all know these things. Just nobody worries. We've got the Captain and you looking out for the old _James_."

Valerie quickly glanced away, hiding a grin at the young sailor's almost natural enthusiasm. Andrea Garnett's smile took on a less forced appearance.

"So we heard St. Louis has quite some infrastructure left. What I wouldn't do for some decent beer…"  
"Right, cause down under everything tastes of Marmite. You should be happy with everything cook whips up!"

"You'll pay for that later, red-head. Chief, what will you go look for?"

The blond woman hesitated a moment, but let herself be caught by the jolly atmosphere. "Probably a good book, or two, and some new tools." She turned to the red-headed computer engineer. "And you, Miss Raymond?"

Valerie caught the slightly hostile expression in the Australian's face and exchanged a quick glance with the quiet girl in their middle. "Oh, I'd settle for a red steak and some marshmallows. Alvi?"

"Me?" she blushed, and moved a hand fending off the question.

"Come on, we're doing rounds. Give us something!" Wolfman challenged her amicably. "If you close your eyes, what is it you're most looking forward to?"

"Right now? The gateway arch."

Valerie cut in exhilarated: "Coward! Just because we just talked about it!"

"Well you took the steak, Wolfman the beer, the Chief the book, there's nothing decent left for me! Miller, save me, come on!" The young woman summoned enough energy to turn the laughter toward the young sailor again.

"A hot bath!"

That had them all laughing again.

But then, as if by the drop of a coin, they sobered.

"Don't mean to be the killjoy, but I look forward to find out if my mum's well. Sure, a steak would be nice, a beer too, but the only thing I can think of right now is to find her, and tell her we've made it."

It was Valerie Raymond who agreed quietly: "Yeah, same here. I'm not best friends with my folks, but I'd love to see their faces again."

"Do you know if they are all right?"

"Last I heard they were…"

"Don't Danny and Burke and some of the others have family up there, too, Miller? Guess you guys will stick together after this?"

Wolfman had turned toward the view. "Guess we all will stick together after this. There's no going back on the past months…" He caught the unbelieving and self-derogatory expression with which the other young woman had listened to his words. "Even you, hacker nut."

Valerie and the chief engineer snorted, Alviarin smiled over a silent breath out, and Mills looked from one to the other with a slightly bemused frown.

Andrea Garnett glanced at the dark-haired marine. "Have you heard anything on your family?"

"No, chief. No contact with the continent."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what is worse – to know for certain, or to be able to hold on to hope."

"Ma'am, I'd take the knowing. Deal with whatever comes, move on from it. Find new hope." He turned toward the group again, to find four pairs of eyes fixed on him. He shrugged, scratched his short beard and smiled. "I'm a glass half full kind of guy. Wisdom from down under."

"What do you call a talking kangaroo?" Miller's words were just a tiny bit slow. He had an especially dry expression on his face.

"What?" All other faces turned toward the younger man – three with frowns, one with suppressed hilarity.

"A quantum leap." He grinned widely. "Wisdom from down under – get it?" His enjoyment of having gotten the better of the other man was palpable. Only the slightest seriousness in his eyes betrayed his intent in lightening the subject.

"Ah, Miller, again with the smart mouthing!" Wolfman sputtered with indignation.

Valerie grinned widely at the exchange, appreciative of the camaraderie, and the pains everyone took to keep the mood alive.

"Alvi, will you join the expedition tomorrow?"

Curious glances focused on the reclining figure. The young woman looked tired. "Don't know yet. Doc and Dr Milkowsky keep telling me to take it easy, and I won't get the booster shot, anyway…"

"Cause you're immune?"

"Yeah, something about the cure as a shot possibly carrying side-effects for me."

"And I forgot… don't you have a thing about crowds?"

"Thanks for reminding me, Val." She glanced at the three navy people. "I don't deal well with too many people in one spot."

"How come?" Wolfman frowned alertly. The two young women exchanged a glance.

"An event that turned bad… too many people, too few exits. Resulted in a local panic, people pushing from behind, trampling each other. I was in the middle of it…"

"While I knew nothing of what was happening 'cause we had lost each other in the crowd." Val's dark eyes were haunted, too. "Fifteen dead, two of them friends of ours. She took away a mild case of claustrophobia."

"As can be understood."

"So I'll see how things go tomorrow." Alviarin closed the subject.

"Miller, shouldn't we go debrief or something?"

"Aye, Wolfman. Ladies…" He executed a small bow.

Taylor hesitated for a moment. "Elf, you don't look too good. Maybe returning inside isn't a bad idea?"

Alviarin grimaced, cheeks pale again. "Yes, in a minute. But I'll manage, you don't have to..."

"I'll stay with her…" Valerie met the Australian's glance directly.

"You do that. I'll see you tomorrow, Elf. Chief."

"Actually, he is right. We'd better take you back inside. We'll be under way soon, and you look as if you'll fall asleep any second."

Chief Engineer Garnett and Valerie Raymond chaperoned Alviarin back to her own cot, made sure she had everything she might need in easy distance, and left the young woman already closing her eyes. After Val had left, the blond chief turned back toward the half-asleep patient to find the grey eyes fixed on her with an unreadable expression.

"You don't have to be afraid for me, Alviarin. It's hard, to carry on, but those we lost would want us to stay strong. And we've come too far to give up."

A slight smile. "Glad to hear it, chief."

AN: _thanks so much for the reviews, follows and PM's. you make my day. So this one was a bit on the lighter side..._


	26. Chapter 26

AN: _love the reviews and the resulting discussions, honoured by the followers /favouriting. We're entering slightly dicey ground here, since I've been sticking with the season 2 so far and intend to do so for a while longer._

Chapter 26

"I'm leaving the _Nathan James_ with a decent guard if I have to stay behind myself." Tom Chandler crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the cupboard.

Slattery had that slightly evil glitter in the corner of his eyes he knew so well.

The President sitting at the table finally nodded defeat. "All right. Do as you see fit, Captain."

"We'll figure out a pattern to replace the guards quickly, Mr. President." Slattery kept his tone very respectful.

"Well then. I'll expect you on deck in two hours, gentlemen."

After the door had closed on Michener, the two officers looked at each other. "It's gonna be easier to feed this to the crew than it was to convince him." The XO pressed his lips together. "Suggestions? Smallest contingent?"

The Captain almost shrugged. "No, I want a reasonable number watching her. Can't be certain we have no surprises waiting. We'll ask for volunteers, and let chance speak otherwise. You realise we are both going."

"Aye. Then we've got the engineering crew preparing the ship for dry-docking. Gonna give them the first opportunity to get off, and return with the change of guard?"

"Good plan." Chandler nodded, lost in thought already.

* * *

"Yo, Alvi, you coming?"

"No, Val, I'm on bedrest."

"What?" The computer engineer stared unbelieving. Then understanding crossed the clear-cut features. "You're avoiding the crowd. By medical decree?"

Alviarin grinned at her. "Yeah, just till the guards change. You coming back to the ship?"

"Not by choice. Why?"

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not leaving right away, Alv, I owe yous more than that. I want to see this new administration take off, then I'll go look for my folks. You?"`

"Something similar. I'm curious about the city, finding a place to sleep, what the people are like…"

"Yeah, me too. Right, I gotta pack. See you after?"

* * *

"Chief, you're going on shore with the first group?"

"Yes, Elf, what is it? You're not going?"

"No, no shore leave for me yet." But the girl's eyes were glowing. "Dr Milkowsky is not happy about my blood count."

"Sorry to hear that – but you did look pretty bad for a little too long there."

"I have to concur I still tire quickly. But I'll go into St. Louis later. I wanted to ask whether you were returning to ship – you're overseeing the engineering group, right?"

"Yes, that's true."

"Could I ask a favour of you?"

* * *

 _"_ _Alviarin. Dr. Milkowsky just gave me an update. You're staying on board, at least for the first shift."_

 _"_ _Captain…" there were sailors and marines within listening distance._

 _"_ _No discussion. You'll get off the Nathan James with the change of guards, and I'll come pick you up." His words were very quiet and so intent, they raised the hairs at the back of her neck._

 _She swallowed and tried to argue, a little taken aback at the suddenness: "I can join the sailors and come find you."_

 _"_ _You'll have to do that anyway if I'm held up, but if everything goes according to plan I'll be free for a part of the afternoon at least. There's the issue of the gateway arch to settle."_

 _Alviarin felt herself blush and turned her head slightly so no one would see her face. Way to turn up the heat, Captain, her thoughts whispered. "Aye aye, Sir."_

 _She glanced up at him then, aware and uncaring that she was betraying her elation. She was rewarded with a piercing gaze out of blue eyes, telling her clearly of his tension and anticipation over the blooming day._

 _He had left her to walk forward and stand beside the president._

* * *

Hours later, having slept for the whole morning despite nerves, the too-quiet ship and the searing anticipation, Alviarin sat on deck, looking out over the city, thoughts wandering aimlessly over what had brought her to this point. She smiled into the gentle breeze, heart light and overflowing at the same time.

"Ho, cub, here's you hiding?"

"Wolfman! I could ask you the same! What are you doing here?"

"I volunteered to take the first shift… Hey, come to the other side with me, I should watch the gangway…" he motioned to the far side of the ship.

The young woman got up, let the Australian snatch her chair and followed him to where he could oversee his designated part of the silvery destroyer. "Cruz is about somewhere, he'll join us in a bit presumably."

"You volunteered? Why?"

The Puerto-rican marine suddenly appeared above them and called down boisterously: "Well he said we'd have our pick of the more patient pretty ladies if we joined the craziness a bit late…"

"Not true, you monkey! I said it was only fair for them than went through the whole trip before to get the cheers!"

"How very noble of you – you both, of course." Alvi sneered good-naturedly.

The bantering took a while to die down, too exhilarated was the mood.

"So, Cruz, you got anything useful to do once you're off the ship?"

The muscular marine shrugged, understanding the more serious question differently . "Anchorage is pretty off radar. I haven't had any contact, but I'm fairly hopeful my sister is well."

"It's not a big international airport. If they reacted quickly, could be they sealed of the city fast enough."

"Ah, but under that assumption a lot of smaller towns should have survived…"

"If they reacted correctly. I drove into Missoula, in the Rockies, expecting a healthy population. It was a ghost town. They'd held a town meeting because of the virus, thinking themselves safe. One must have been infected…."

"How'd you know about the meeting?" Cruz asked.

"Newspapers lying around…"

"But on the other hand there's places like New Orleans that had just dealt with disaster and saved quite a large part of their population despite being a swamp."

"Yeah, where nutjobs then let themselves be…"

"Come on, Wolfman!" Alviarin interrupted him challengingly. "I thought we were done with the animosity toward Val!"

Taylor took a breath to answer, but the young woman held up a hand. "I could blame her for Andy's death, too, but she's human! She reacted in a deeply human way!"

"So? That's the excuse?"

"I thought we were saving humanity here…"

"Geez, guys, stop fighting."

"We're not fighting. Girl's right. The hacker nut wasn't even part of the crazy civilians that came after us on the rig. Sorry, Elf."

"Shut up, Wolfman." Alviarin bit her lip to keep from grinning widely.

"You said you went to uni in Anchorage?" Cruz changed the subject deftly.

"Yes. Arctic engineering. Why?"

"Cause you don't have an accent at all. And there's this weird lilt every time you say Taylor's name…"

"Yeah, good question. What's this thing about _canes lupi_?"

The young woman paled suddenly, watching her two comrades with a curious expression.

"All right. You want to hear this?"

The two men frowned lightly.

* * *

"Hear what?"

"Tex! What the? What are you doing here?"

"Permission to come aboard?" The familiar figure had turned up on the docks and was already running up the gangway to join them. "Here, Elf, Chief Garnett sends this." He threw over the small package he'd carried under his arm to the young woman. Who blushed lightly, and cradled it against her chest.

"She says she got held up, and since I was coming down to the _James_ anyway, I took this with me. So hear what?"

"And what's in there?"

"Nah, guys, either – or! A girl never tells all stories! Tex, found you daughter?" She was reasonably certain of the answer, since the older man shone with happiness.

"Aye, I did. She's with the crew right now, I promised to get back as soon as possible. But I got a minute to hear… what exactly were you talking about?"

"Elf here was going to tell us what her issue with Wolf is."

Tex Nolan looked from the Australian to the slightly irritated young woman. "Issues?"

"Trust the navy to get everything all bungled up!" Alviarin chuckled. "Tex, any news on Rachel Scott?"

Tex's face fell a little. "You mean the President? No, not yet." He shrugged a little painfully.

"I had hoped she might have vanished when you left the ship…"

Tex' brows rose at the young woman. "You tell her that?"

"No, I never spoke to her since… the rig…"

"Too bad, you might have changed her mind…" There was something final about the way the burly Nevadan grumbled the words.

"Tex? Everything ok between you two?"

"Weren't you guys going to resolve some issues?" he tried to evade.

But now the Australian had turned somewhat serious, too. "Come on, old man, you can't leave us hanging like that, everyone likes a nice happy-end…"

"Not happening here, mate. She's holding out for someone else."

Alviarin frowned in complete disbelieve, meeting the Australian's thoughtful glance by chance. It was the other marine who threw in dryly: "Our Doctor has a crush on the big man…"

"The XO?"

Cruz snorted. "Ha, no, the Captain!"

Tex shrugged. "I've been trying to persuade her I'm the better man for her, but she won't listen… She's stubborn like that."

"Should plant a good one on her, that should do it!" Cruz told him with a jostle.

Not even that helped. "I did. She looked startled."

"Sorry, man. I thought… you made a fantastic couple." Wolfman's drawl was bemused.

"All right, enough now from this sorry end. What about the wolf issues?" Tex turned around.

"Elf, you owe us a story!"

* * *

Alviarin quickly reorganized her features, rubbing her hands over her face trying in vain to sort through the shock the taunting words had elicited. Rachel in love with Tom Chandler? Had she been blind? Did this change anything? Later, later… As if through a curtain of fog, she faced the three expectant faces.

"Short version is that when I was five, my father killed a she-wolf who had been roaming too close to our cabin. Only she had four cubs. I found them, and fed them – secretly, because he would never have allowed that. Three lived. They became my best friends and family through the next years."

"I always thought you can't tame a wolf!"

"Who said anything about taming? I ran with them. They are the reason I lived." She bit her lip. She'd said too much.

"No, you can't leave it at that, Elf." All three faces were focused on her.

Cradling the package to her chest, she continued helplessly, trying to find a way to tell the story succinctly. "A cabin in Alaska. My father a half-crazed scientist, mother sick of an auto immune condition that had already killed my brother at the age of two. Mother never got over his death, she had absences ever since. One day in spring she developed a fever, and in delusion went off into the woods. She encountered a grizzly that mauled her. Father found her, packed her into the truck and drove off to the nearest hospital. Returning to the cabin from a gathering trip in the evening, I found the grizzly rummaging through the workplace of my mother, blood on his muzzle. You can guess what I thought. I took off, the bear after me. The three wolves chased him off finally."

She swallowed, relaxing a little.

"Holy shit, how old were you?"

"Seven."

"What happened then?"

Alviarin sighed. Nothing for it then. "Mother died shortly after they reached the hospital. I never returned to the cabin. I ran with the wolves. Father and one uncle found me with the Chipewyan at fourteen, speaking their language and moving like one of their own. They took me back to civilisation."

"Bloody hell." That was Cruz, who broke the silence. "Six years lost?"

Tex was studying her. "How'd you survive until the natives found you?"

Alviarin grinned at his misconception, but did not correct him. "Half of the family were survival specialists. I learned from the age of three to understand my surroundings. I knew the wilderness well, knew to lay traps, fish, skin small animals, knew my way around roots, berries and nuts." With slight surprise she found her fingers shaking. "Knew to make fire. The wolves hunted for and with me, kept me warm."

"I heard Raymond call you Wolf Child once…" Cruz' usually so deliberate intonation had a hesitant quality to it.

"Actually, this explains a few things… the way you moved through the swamp at Lotus Point."

Alviarin glanced up at the Australian, who was watching her with wide eyes. "Understand the shock that ran through me when you told me your name?"

"Aye. That's a remarkable story. But you don't like to tell it…"

The young woman grimaced. "Usually the reactions are less amiable."

"Cool story." Tex drawled, exaggerating the vowels to the point where all four of them grinned. "Guess those skills might come in handy nowadays…"

Relief widened Alviarin's smile.

Cruz and Taylor lifted their faces alertly at the same moment, looking out over the shore. "Here they come. We're good to go!"

Wolfman glanced at the young woman. "Elf, you coming with us? We're gonna look for Miller, Danny and Burke and the rest of them."

Alviarin could not help a queasy feeling in her stomach. "Nah, guys, go on without me, I'll catch up." She held up the parcel, trying for nonchalance. "Got something to check first."

"Suit yourself, but don't think we won't pester you with more questions. Don't get lost!" Wolfman chuckled.

"Save me a beer, aye?" She grinned, and made her way into the ship.

* * *

When Alviarin returned not fifteen minutes later, she was surprised to find the burly older man still waiting at the railing. He turned and did a double take. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Miss!"

Alviarin blushed lightly, but smiled. She had liked her reflection, too. Chief Garnett had managed to find a bottle green cotton dress of simple cut and soft material that fell almost to the floor. It fit well enough over the bandages, she was not comfortable with too-tight clothes anyway. Last evening she had pulled out the old leather moccasins she had been wearing when she joined the ship and managed to clean them to a reasonable degree. Lastly she had wound the heavy braid into a figure eight at the back of her head and fastened it with a wooden stick. The only misgiving was the too-large Rangers coat that was her sole outerwear. But she could carry that over her arm.

"Thanks, Tex."

"That's what was in the parcel? You're going on a date!" The burly man pulled the cap off and rubbed the back of his head.

The young woman took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. "Something like it. Don't…" she interrupted when he would have asked more. "I… We… don't know if and what this is."

Tex smiled understanding with a twinkle of evil.

"Listen, they'll try and hold an inauguration in a couple of hours, the returners just told us. And then there will be a party in the evening. But whoever you're meeting will know details."

Considering his words, the young woman answered without thought. "Aye, he will. You're not leaving early, Tex?"

Nolan had been watching the girl intently, and at her quick, thoughtless answer his eyes widened a little. He pursed his lips, but replied evenly. "No, I don't think I will after all. Can't deprive Kathleen of her first formal party…"

His counterpart was oblivious of the undercurrents, focused on what lay ahead.

"Come, I'll walk you to the shore. No worries, we'll part ways there. But we can't have you stumbling down the slippery plank."

Alviarin grinned up at him and even let him lead her down the gangway. Sand under their feet, Tex kissed her fingers in an exaggerated motion that made her chuckle, and turned to walk where he had left his daughter.

* * *

Alviarin stood for a moment, breathing deeply, glancing up at the wide silvery Arc that framed the view. There were people milling about, but she only noticed them preliminarily. Slowly, enjoying every step, she walked over to the left foot of the Arc and laid her hand against the metal surface. Emotions rushing through her, she lowered her head and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her gaze unerringly found the two largest male figures in navy dress – XO and Captain were standing a couple hundred feet from her in a loose group of civilians.

With a rush, the scene descended on the young woman. Smiling faces, exhilarated faces, crying faces, hopeful faces, children running about in shy exultation, hands being shaken, shoulders clapped. Obviously the biggest rush was over, but the atmosphere was such that nobody wanted to leave, everybody felt the significance of the moment, and the expectation of what was to come.

She felt a pair of piercing blue eyes find her, and turned her gaze back toward the two officers. Watched Slattery speak a word to the Captain, who lifted his head with a searching frown. Their eyes met, and time stood still.

Alviarin felt the exultation rushing through her, the frown on Tom Chandler's forehead dissolving slowly. Considerate of his surroundings, a short grip on his first officer's arm, the captain stepped away from the group, never breaking eye contact.

He came toward her with his measured gait, smile widening, blue eyes shining. She managed a few steps with weak knees, aware of nothing but the blood pounding in her ears.

The distance reduced to a mere nothing, they both reached out with their hands, grasping each other's wrists.

Chandler stared down into the upturned face, drinking in the glowing eyes, the colour in the still pale face, the elegant mouth drawn wide into a still shy smile. Her slender wrists in his hands were warm and solid and fragile, her long fingers wrapped around his forearms reassuringly, distractingly strong.

He was aware that he was still a very public figure, that there were many eyes on them. He could not quite shed the captain's mantle. But every inch of him wanted to draw the young woman closer. It seemed she felt the same way, for they leaned toward each other until he could press his lips against her forehead, breathing in the smell of her hair. His fingers tightened at her gasp, and he felt a shiver run through her. His breath caught, he ran his hands up her arms, unwilling to pull back. Finally he pushed away gently, and watched her open her eyes to gaze up at him with a look so filled with yearning while mirroring his own heat, he felt a helpless chuckle rise in his throat.

Tucking her left hand gently into the crook of his arm, he turned slowly, pulling her with him. When she stumbled slightly at the first steps, he covered her hand with his. "You all right?"

She took a breath and glanced up at him, answering very dryly: "I'm good."

"Week knees?" The twinkle in her eyes was contagious.

"Sir."

He laughed gently and felt her lean her cheek against his arm for a heartbeat.

In the distance, Chandler caught sight of the XO watching them with a small, somewhat painful but appreciative smile. When Slattery felt the Captain's gaze on him, he motioned slightly toward the trees forming the edge of the field. He would stay, keep an eye on things and give the captain some leeway.


	27. Chapter 27

_I've been really flattered at the followers (and old acquaintances) that added my scribbles so late in the game. Love all you guys!_

 _Sorry it's been taking me so long to post, it's the end of the schoolyear and things are crazy._

Chapter 27

Arm in arm they walked under the trees toward the old courthouse, aware of the looks Chandler's navy uniform attracted, but also strangely apart from what was going on around them.

"So how does this work now? Do you know anything yet? Is the crew likely to spread, like on shore leave, or stick together?"

"Hard to say. The president will be sworn in in two hours, and there's going to be an inauguration party later at the biggest hotel. Once the situation is sorted, I guess some of our people will stay, get their bearing, while others will hurry for their families at once. Most of them hail from up North…"

"What about Ashley and Sam?"

He liked that she was using their names, not asking after 'his children'.

"I want to see them as soon as possible, but I am under the president's command. I want secure surroundings for them, too. At least St Louis has a halfway functioning hospital."

"I wonder how they managed to keep the infrastructure up and running so well…"

"They put the airport under quarantine right away, and sealed off the city… crime rate used to be high here, so police was well organized to begin with, I guess." Tom shrugged slightly, changing the subject. "Where did you get the dress? Borrowed?"

"I asked Chief Engineer Garnett if she could maybe keep her eyes open for me… oh God." Alviarin suddenly remembered everything that had happened on the ship before she left.

Chandler frowned down at her. "What?"

The girl evaded quickly: "I haven't thanked her yet… she sent Tex to give it to me, seems she was held up."

Chandler smiled, reading her face easily. "Aha. Change of guards went without problems?"

"Aye, Wolfman and Cruz were ready to jump ship. The others came back on time, as promised. I…" she licked her lips. "I told them about how I ended up with the natives…"

"Wow, big step there, young woman. How much? How did they react?" Chandler remembered well how careful she had been with her story, how afraid of his reaction.

"Really well. Generous and curious …" she met his eyes with a half-smile.

"You've already earned their respect, something like that is not likely to change their view towards you… I wondered how come the Chipewyan never alerted the authorities, or other way round, why nobody came to look for you for so long."

Alviarin shrugged. "Ah, when I came upon them I was a half wild wolfling. The old woman who took me in over the first winters didn't speak, and had no contact with the clan. She took pity on me and housed me during the coldest months… only after she died did I search for more people. They did get word out eventually, and then Uncle Mike and Father came to look if it was really me… They'd thought me dead, too, same as I'd thought of them..."

The Captain regarded the calm face with compassion and curiosity. She talked of her past as if it had happened to somebody else. It had been the same on the island. He remembered how she had even sometimes spoken of herself in third person.

"Who helped you work through the issues? You were a child in shock, left in the wilderness, then put back into society and resulted in an accomplished mathematician, musician and engineer. There's no direct path between those two points."

"No, there isn't." She smiled at his words. "It was a rough couple of years. None of the family was equipped to handle a teenager with my set of skills, but the six brothers took turns taking me along on travels, teaching me basics and advanced basics, polishing social skills, but mostly it was I guess the traveling, letting me see and experience things no young person my age would ever be left free to do… They had me touching history, art, languages and cultures, natural sciences, letting me immerse myself wherever I showed deeper interest. I'm still a half-wild nerd, but with social skills."

He covered her hand with his, moved by the grateful clear-headedness and level self-reflection. She glanced up at him, and he could see the pain and grief hiding in the grey eyes.

To distract her, he changed the subject.

"The Arch, is it everything you expected?"

"It's breath-taking." Thankful for the new topic, she took a deep breath, shaking off the memories.

He looked down at her, struck by how alive, how hopeful she was. She gave him a slanted glance.

"The Arch is going to become a symbol for defiance in the face of the worst odds, mark my words." She mocked herself with the undertones of elation. "You realised yet that you're making history?"

"History… I've been carrying that around with me for too long." Now he felt the weight trying to settle back on his shoulders.

"When did you first know?" her eyes were dark and innocent and full of compassion.

Chandler kept silent for a long moment.

"Back in the Arctic, Green and the team around Dr. Scott brought back a Russian alive from their first encounter with them. When I asked him what they wanted, why they'd attacked our men, he said 'the Cure'. That's when I got a really bad feeling about the mission…" Her fingers tightened around his arm. "Those were the moments when the crew grew from well-coordinated team to family."

"Andy said you and Rachel didn't get along in the beginning."

Tom Chandler grinned almost deviously. "True. Her attitude, her single-mindedness and her arrogance – all well-earned, as we had ample chance to discover for ourselves – didn't make for friend-material. There were moments she was as frustrated with me as the other way round, I'm sure." He automatically thought of their latest altercation – Sorensen.

"But you both came around eventually…"

There was something in her voice… Chandler glanced down at the young woman, who was studiously staring ahead. His eyes glinted, his lips twitched.

"My dear Miss Rykers, I'm fairly certain your exceptional, non-judgmental understanding of human dynamics during catastrophic times have given you ample insight into the development of mutual respect and admiration. What's this really about?"

He pulled her to a stop, turning her around so he could watch the blood rise into her cheeks as she pulled her lower lip between her teeth. Watch her take a breath and ask with heart-breaking steadfastness: "If Rachel Scott had a crush on you, would that change things between us?"

Chandler did a double-take. Not at her words, it was inevitable the girl would hear something of the kind, but at how terribly young she suddenly seemed.

"Do you realise my daughter is the same age roughly as the age gap between us?"

Alviarin frowned in surprise at the change of subject, tilting her head. She let herself be side-tracked momentarily. "Does that bother you? That I'm more than ten years younger?" She didn't mince words.

Chandler regarded her for a long minute, then glanced around. They were not alone in the street leading away from the old courtyard, but there was no crowd any more.

He turned back to focus his gaze on the young woman, fully aware of the effect he had on her.

"I'm aware of it, sometimes very much. Would I be standing here alone, I might feel old. But your way of looking at the world tends to win me over every time. So no, it does not bother me."

Her eyes were wide, a little wary, filled with wonder… she blinked, and swallowed convulsively.

"Does it bother you?" He took a step closer, lifting his brows challengingly. He'd already read her answer in her eyes, in the way her pupils widened. His hand found hers. Her breath caught. She shook her head, let herself be pulled along slowly.

Chandler's voice turned rough. "While I can imagine a few things that could come between you and me, Rachel Scott is not one of them."

Gazing at each other for a long moment, they walked on slowly. Alviarin smiled a shy little smile, but it seemed another thought hit her. She tilted her head. "Will you tell me about your wife?" Her voice was very small.

Tom Chandler felt the grief pull gently at his insides, saw the understanding in the grey eyes, and managed a smile. "Yes, Elf, I'll tell you about Darien. But we've talked about enough past for the short time we have right now. Some other time?"

The young woman nodded.

The tall man realised she was a little relieved at his answer – she'd been worried about Darien, understandably, and had wanted to show him she was aware of the untouched subject. He felt his heart swell with warmth and appreciation for the slim creature at his side. Elation slipped in, too, and humour. She was glowing, but nervous, considerate, but the pressure of her slender fingers around his hand told him how much strength she drew from his regard.

"You know for a time I thought Dr. Scott and my XO had something going…"

He enjoyed the shock that ran through the slender woman. "Rachel and the XO? I can't… no, I really can't… well maybe…" Her laughter rang out then, a sound so melodic and care-free and full of life that he was spellbound, until he managed to swallow and chuckle with her. His heartbeat sped up.

A thought hit him, he pulled her to a stop gently. "How's your arm? The shoulder? We've been walking for more than an hour. Shouldn't you sit down?"

She shook her head, smiling up at him. "I'm good."

"Yesterday you slept the whole day. Let's find you something to drink at least."

"I slept the whole morning. I drank before I left. Tom…"

"Regardless, I should not have dragged you this far." He glanced around searchingly. Their corner of the street was almost empty. He found his gaze drawn back to the girl tilting her head at him.

Her eyes were glowing, her face radiating amusement and something else that had him swallow. A slender hand came to rest against his chest, light as a butterfly.

"Will you shut up and kiss me already?" How could her voice be so shy, yet so exhilarated? The grey eyes were wide, shocked at what she had dared, still full of laughter… and yearning.

His every nerve ignited, heat flared between them. He felt the goose bumps rise on the too thin arm his hand encircled, felt his own skin pebble in answer. He cupped her cheek with his other hand, threading his fingers into her hair. She leaned into his touch, eyes almost closing.

And then he leaned in, touching his mouth to hers gently at first, but found the blood roaring in his ears. He pulled back, startled by the urgency of his reaction. A shiver ran through her. Breathing too fast, he lost himself in the wide, questioning gaze, until slender fingers threaded through his hair with electrifying insistence. He slipped his hand to the nape of her neck, the other hand finally ran around her waist and up her back to pull her flush against him. She rose up on tip-toes to meet him half way, and they were both lost to the world, conscious only of body heat, of constrained strength and soft curves, of touch and taste and quick stolen breaths.

They both broke away from each other at the same moment, breathing hard. Tom Chandler stared down into the young woman's upturned face in wonder. When she opened her eyes and smiled at him, emotions spilling over, he felt himself smiling back at her, wondering if she could read as much in his eyes: the tenderness, the heat, the desire fuelled by the enjoyment of having her react so expressively to his every touch, have her touch rise fire under his skin.

Tom pulled her head against his chest burying his face in her hair for a moment.

"We should head back, you know."

She sighed expressively, then smiled up at him in that elfin way of hers. "Yes, Sir, I know." She slipped out of his arms, shivering slightly in the afternoon breeze, and threaded her fingers through his.

Not quite ready to let go of her warmth, he pulled her around once more, tilted her head upward with a knuckle under her chin so he could kiss her one – two - three times.

"All right, let's go." He murmured finally.

They walked in silence for half of the way.

"So, anything else on your mind?" he sneered gently, amused and somewhat touched by the barely hidden blissful smile playing around his companion's mouth. Startled, she glanced up at him and blushed, grimacing delightfully. She did not even try to answer.

"So who relayed that rumour about Dr Scott?" he asked a little later, honestly curious.

"Tex came on board, and he and Wolfman and Cruz got to talking…"

Chandler grunted. But before he could follow up with a question, Alviarin's fingers tightened.

"The sun… come, let's hurry. There's something about the Arch I want to show you."


	28. Chapter 28

_Sorry for the looooong wait. At least the chapter is a bit longer than my usual. Love you guys for staying with me. I rewatched parts of the first series before finishing this. TomChel Shippers beware!_

Chapter 28

"You could have told me earlier that you and the Cap were an item." Tex drawled lazily. Alviarin startled, over the noise of the inauguration party she had not heard him approach.

She turned, and started again. "Wow," she smiled shyly. "You clean up nice."

"Well, the occasion called for it. It's borrowed. But don't skirt the issue, young lady."

Alviarin hesitated. "How do you know…?"

The older man grinned widely. "I had a hunch this afternoon when you emerged from the _James_ looking so beautiful, then saw you walk with him past the city hall, and you just confirmed it for me."

The blood rushed into the young woman's face. "Tex… it's still true what I said earlier. I hardly know…"

"But you knew Rachel has an issue with him?"

"Gods, no, you could have knocked me down. I thought I was good at reading people, but then I guess I never saw them interact. The only time she and I talked about the Captain was when…" Gods, when she had killed Sorensen. "… when she was horribly angry at him. Tex, I…"

"No, child, don't apologize. A man has to wonder if this could have gone differently… She doesn't know about you, I take it?"

Alviarin shrugged expressively, turning slightly to the side. "I could not say."

"Can't say _I_ 'm much surprised, though."

That had her head turn around. "Why?"

"Well," he dragged the word exaggeratingly. "I caught him looking at you once, a good while ago. Thought it was mostly because of the island story and the tsunami… you are an impressive addition to the crew. And the way _your_ face looked when _he_ collapsed after the oil rig blew… You have rather expressive features. Look, I'm happy for you – and him, though what this guy has to have two girls falling for him, I really don't get." He had good-naturedly enjoyed the young woman's embarrassment, and now grinned widely at her to take the sting out of his words.

"There is no chance Rachel could change her mind… I mean if I talked to her?"

"Seriously, Miss, it was hard being second choice while I still thought I had a chance." His words held finality. "I got my daughter to look after."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing you did, child. Anyway, glad to know you'll be around for a while…" He nodded amicably, and moved away, leaving the young woman looking after him somewhat sadly.

* * *

Val sidled up to her, pulling her into a short embrace. "Good feeling, right?"

"Aye, hacker nut." Alvi returned, feeling the smile turning natural again.

"You'll never guess, I found a cousin of mine. He lives here with his family, they survived, all of them. I mean, his parents are gone, but his wife and the kids are well. Work in the collecting and distributing of food."

"Val, how wonderful! I'm glad for you!"

"Thanks. How about you? Feeling all right?"

"Tired, but ok." Tired all right – mentally and physically by now.

"Look, there's the doc."

To her momentary horror, Alviarin saw Rachel Scott walking toward them. She was wearing a short black dress that made her look immeasurably attractive, showing off her slim figure and elegant movements.

"Hello, ladies! Enjoying the evening?"

"Dr. Scott, how did it go with the president?"

Alviarin started, but the other women's face was turned to Valerie. In the chaos of the afternoon she had forgotten that the scientist's freedom was hanging in question.

"I've been pardoned, and given new assignments."

"Already? That was quick! Congratulations!"

"It seems there are a few pockets of fresh outbreaks. I'm glad to be able to help."

"You're a workhorse, Dr Scott."

Rachel laughed freely at the red-haired woman's sneer.

"You must be relieved." Alviarin commented quietly.

Rachel glanced at her. "To be honest, it would have chafed to be tried for murder after everything. The President saw it my way, after all."

Valerie frowned slightly. "Guess there are few that would not have protested had you been tried for real."

"Well, there were those who let it come to this in the beginning." She could not quite suppress the triumph that shone in her eyes.

The two younger women glanced at each other. Val, reading and misinterpreting the discomfort in her friend's features, tried to change the subject. "I heard you and the Captain clashed on several occasions. I know it took me a little to concede him his point."

Rachel chuckled a little. "I confess I quite enjoy our clashes. The first time was early on, when he would not back down even though I had nominal authority over him, back in the arctic. It was something new to me to have to prove myself to someone I initially saw as a means to an end. I'm curious how he will take this development." Her voice held a promise…

"Rachel…" the word escaped Alviarin's lips unbidden. But in the sudden uproar of a well-placed joke in a group close by them, it went unnoticed.

"Right, who's up for a glass of something?" Valerie laughed.

"Wouldn't say no!" The scientist smiled widely.

"Alv, you coming?"

"I'll join you in a bit." The Elf felt the need for some fresh air, before venturing further into the ringing evening.

* * *

The door to the staircase closing behind them, Alviarin, Kathleen and Tex rounded the corner, to be met by a slender, short-ish guy with dark hair. The only thing remarkable about him was the sheen of moisture on his skin, the dark circles under his eyes and the manic grin.

All three caught a glimpse of the crumpled, dark-clad body further down the corridor at the same time, and alarmed, looked to the stranger for answers.

He noticed their mistrust, and picked the young woman, closest to him, for the weakest link. Smashing his fist into her stomach without warning, he pushed her aside to step over her and run. Despite the crippling pain and the air driven out of her lungs, Alviarin managed to stick out a leg and at least hamper his intent. Kat had managed to press herself against the wall, wide-eyed and scared. Tex reacted automatically: the guy's stumble made it easy. His fist connected with the side of his opponent's face, a knee to the lower belly and the free arm wrapped around his neck pulling him backwards. Within a heartbeat he had the man unconscious on the floor, gun pulled from his jeans. Tex was pulling his tie from his neck while stepping over the supine form. He halted for a moment at the gasping girl's side, but following the petrified expression of the grey eyes and the helplessly outstretched arm of his daughter, he looked up.

It was Rachel Scott, lying a seemingly endless distance from them on the corridor floor.

A desperate roar came from his mouth, almost unbidden.

It took an unreasonable amount of time until he kneeled at the woman's side, heart beating in his ears. One hand covering the too-rapidly spreading wound in her chest, he touched her face gently. Dimly aware of the pale girl at his side and his daughter closing the distance, he barked: "Kat, take the gun. Elf, get help!"

Alviarin left without another word, stumbling down the corridor into the delusive light.

It was too quiet, most of the crew were still partying. There would be little use in knocking on doors – if nobody heard the gunshot, no one would react to that. When she pushed the heavy door to the staircase open, to her immense relief she heard voices coming from below. "Help! Come quickly! Fifth floor!" A sudden silence was followed by surprised shouts and quick footsteps. Relief washed through the young woman.

* * *

Tom Chandler turned at the knock on his door.

He had taken off the uniform jacket, glad to be rid of the formal wear. He'd stood at the window for a long moment, considering the conversation with Rachel Scott, the president's words (a desk job? At least he would be there for his children…), the expression on Alviarin's face when their eyes met under the Arch, the short – way too short – conversations they had had since touching St. Louis sand, and most of all how best to get his children down here.

And now there was the knocking.

The hairs at the back of his neck rose, his heartbeat picked up speed involuntarily. With a flash he remembered the day Alviarin had knocked on his door on the _Nathan James_ \- but then he had known instinctively that it was her. This time the knock sounded askew – jagged, even urgent… Still, something told him it was the young woman, not Mike and not Rachel Scott.

He opened the door in shirtsleeves, a smile ready.

Dread straightened his spine as he took in the white-faced woman, the wide, scared grey eyes. Even before he could pose a question, she wrapped her arms around herself and said: "Rachel's been shot." She was shivering uncontrollably. He followed his first instinct and reached for her. The girl kept speaking through chattering teeth. "Tex and his daughter, Miller, Milkowsky, they took her to the hospital. She was unconscious, had lost a lot of blood."

Heavy steps following the sound of an opening door alerted them both to another presence. Tom made to pull the young woman into his room, when the first officers voice called out: "Tom? That you?" Slattery came down the corridor at a jog.

Alviarin pulled out of the embrace with a start. Chandler found himself momentarily distracted by the loss of the warmth and comfort her body had brought.

"Mike. What happened?"

The XO took in the situation with a straight face, only one slightly raised brow betrayed surprise.

"One of McDowell's maniacs gained access to the building, gunned down Dr. Scott point blank. How much did the Elf tell you? She was there at the scene."

Out of the corner of his eyes Tom Chandler, electrically aware of the young woman, noticed Alviarin pulling back. Clearly she intended to let the two officers discuss this between them. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm gently, but allowing no leeway. "No, Alviarin, if there are more of the enemy around, you're in danger too. They took out Rachel Scott on purpose, either because she's the doctor who found the cure, or as a presumed hit toward me. They might be after you next – we were seen in town this afternoon without doubt." He pulled the slender creature toward him.

Mike nodded agreement, lips pressed together. Alviarin acquiesced, eyes closing for a moment, allowing the captain's arm to pull her close against his side.

Tom addressed the other man again. "Where is he? When and where did this happen?"

Mike shrugged. "Not twenty minutes ago. I had Cruz grab a few guys and search the building, set up a guard. The cutthroat is in one of the empty rooms – in custody, Miss Rykers and Tex between them came upon him just after he pulled the trigger. Did you hear the shot?" The last was directed at the pale girl.

Alviarin shivered again. "No. But the doors to the staircase are heavy, maybe some other noise covered it. We were turning in…"

"Twenty minutes?"

A slight sheen of colour rose into the first officer's face. "Once Dr Scott was en route to the hospital I sent the Elf to inform you, assuming she knew where you stayed."

Chandler felt the young woman stiffen against his side. "The president is secure?" A short nod from the XO sufficed. "I take it Miller will inform us as soon as there are news?"

"Aye, that's the premise. I'd let the man stew for the night, I promised Tex a chance to interrogate him. From my first impression with him, I'm fairly certain he was a lone crazy. He's the kind that would triumph over a more detailed plan… Crew is being informed to be vigilant as we speak."

Chandler grimaced grimly. "Thanks Mike. I know your room number."

The first officer grinned thinly. With a nod at the young woman, he left.

"Come inside, Alviarin. You're not leaving my sight until this situation is cleared."

* * *

"You're comfortable with Mike Slattery knowing about… us?" She sounded shaky.

"Mike had his suspicions much earlier than you'd think. Tell me again – slowly – what happened tonight."

They stood in the middle of the room two arms lengths apart, staring at each other. Chandler was aware of the reticence in the young woman's posture.

Slowly she turned and began pacing the room while he sat down. Let her calm down.

The words, when they came, were measured and painted a clear picture.

"Alvi, are you hurt? you keep covering your middle with your arm?" There was no blood on the green dress, but she stood slightly bent over.

Aware that she could not lie, the young woman answered with a shrug. "He hit me trying to get past us. I'll be fine in a bit."

Chandler ground his teeth silently. He was so done with the Elf being hurt.

"Sit down at least!"

"I can't." she started pacing again.

"Elf, no use worrying before we get information. Would you rather go to the hospital?"

She shook her head helplessly.

Tom frowned at her. "Talk to me."

"My mind is running circles. That there was no guard, nobody noticed him, but how should they, he was just another happy partygoer, until he wasn't. M-maybe somebody noticed his gun, but even that would not have raised suspicion. Why couldn't this win have been clean? You payed enough to get here…"

The Captain stepped into her path and put his arms onto her shoulders.

"Alviarin, stop, look at me."

"Doesn't this change everything? I feel guilty…"

"If anyone should feel guilty, it is me, or the President in this case. Nobody could have expected a lone fanatic. Not even you can foresee crazy people." He liked that his touch could calm her a little, even though he had precious little calm to give. That an attack would come at Dr. Scott from _this_ corner was shocking.

"No, I mean… yes, of course… but… there's another reason why I feel guilty. I should not be here."

"No, Alvi." He threaded his fingers into her hair. "This is going to be my nickname for you. Alvi. If I had to go look for you now, that would be reason to feel guilty." He pressed her unhurt shoulder gently, hoping for the barest hint of humour.

But the eyes that turned up at him were tormented.

"How can you say that? She was in love with you!"

Ah, that had her so torn up. "No. As you said, she had a crush on me – if even that was true. She had a crush on something she saw in me."

"I… understand, but no, I don't."

"We talked, Rachel and I. It must have been shortly before she got shot. She came here, to my room, to give me a letter. I suspect the letter was just a front, it doesn't matter now. Our relationship before… I guess before Baltimore: we grew to respect, trust and value each other in the way two people dependent on each other for their lives and the lives of their closest will. Don't get me wrong, Elf, there was never any real attraction - not on my side. I was married then, had still hope of reuniting with Darien."

"Something she saw in you?"

"Aye. I never told you everything about Sorensen's death. She does not get in the least what it means _to me_ to be captain, that I _had_ to act the way I did after she killed the Swede. A few of the things she said tonight were to the point of proving that she has – still – no appreciation for the duties that come with being the leader of a group of people, to be looked up to, to have to wear a mantle for almost every moment of your day. She doesn't understand my reasons, responsibilities and that I would never go back on my word."

"… nor have the need for it. She can be stubborn. And she did force your hand." Alviarin remembered the heated words that had passed between her and the scientist when she had talked to her in her cabin. The young woman let out a breath from somewhere deep, deep down in her belly, and met the piercing blue eyes, managing the semblance of a smile. "Thank you. This evening, I went from talking to Tex to not talking to Rachel and then stumbling over what seemed for a moment to be her corpse." She tilted her head a little, the shivers running over her in waves.

"I feel the shock as keenly, trust me."

At this moment a knock cut through the silence. Chandler pushed the girl to the side so she would be invisible from the door, grabbed his handgun and pushed the handle carefully after a perfunctory question-and-answer.

Alviarin could not make out the words spoken, so badly was the rush of blood pumping in her ears. When she identified the Captain's deep voice murmuring a grateful dismissal, her knees gave out and she found herself sitting on the floor.

"The local surgeon got the bullet out and stopped the bleeding. She's still unconscious, but he is carefully optimistic." Chandler, on seeing the young woman burying her face in her hands, picked her up without asking for permission and gently sat her on the sofa. When she made no move to pull away, he left his arm under her head, relishing the feeling of her hair on his skin. He watched the relief pour colour into her cheeks.

"To finish the last subject – it was never a question of either you or Rachel Scott, Alviarin. If she believed I was harbouring feelings for her, acting despite them, she was mistaken. 'Nuff said."

That brought forth a giddy little chuckle, followed by a hiccup, followed by an uncontrolled burst of words. "I did not want to know your room number, but when we found Rachel, and Tex sent me for help, all I could think of was you – if he had found you first, where you could be, how I could find you. I called out to the voices for help, and then the XO was there, and told me to inform you, and before I could tell him I didn't know where you were, he was gone again, so I had to run downstairs and ask, but I could not let on what had happened, Mike Slattery said to keep it quiet for the time being…"

Tom Chandler cupped her cheek in his hand and bent down to press his lips to hers. He felt the gentle shock run through her, felt her yield almost instantly to his touch. He kept the kiss soft and tentative, and pulled back before the tension could rise.

"Enough, Alvi. At least now you understand why I would not let you leave."

There was wonder in her eyes, staring up at him. When he gently pulled at her, she laid her head more comfortably against his shoulder, sighing deeply.

"Why did you not want to know my room number?" He could not keep the curiosity and laughter out of his voice. He too could feel the relief that Dr. Scott was at least out of immediate danger bubbling up in him.

It took the young woman a while to answer. "I never meant to come to your room tonight. If it is hard for me and Val and Wolfman to face this semblance of the civilisation we left behind, how hard must it be for you? And your children half a continent away…"

"Aha." He almost at once regretted the sarcasm that had slipped into his short answer, disguising how deeply her words had moved him.

She sat up a little, facing him more directly, even pulling a knee up to wrap her arm around it.

"All right, this is one of the moments I am painfully aware that I am way inexperienced in … relationship issues. So I try to tread lightly, and hope you'll set me straight if I overstep. Apart from being a little overwhelmed by … many things, I don't want to move too fast."

Chandler regarded her calmly, touched and a little amused. "Don't tread too lightly, Elf. This is a two-sided thing we're discussing here, and I'll set you straight only if you do the same."

He answered her open gaze directly. "In my opinion, you're doing the most important thing right – that is talking. Also," he hesitated for a moment, then plunged on: "understand that touching you, having you worry for me, worrying for you, bloody feeling something different than the weight of the world, and the whole crew looking at me for answers – you make me feel alive, and look forward to the future."

Tom Chandler swallowed, taken by surprise how the words had tumbled out like that. He gently took her face in both hands and leaned his forehead against hers for a long moment, calming his breath consciously. "See, signs of stress from the abating shock - me, too." The attempt at nonchalance fell short, his voice was rough. He pulled back reluctantly, not wanting to scare her. What he read in the grey eyes almost broke his reserve. He stood up, went to pour them both a glass of juice from the sparsely stacked mini-fridge and handed one to the girl.

"Michener offered me a desk job."

The young woman had also taken the moment to compose herself, and now looked up at him with a humorous glint in her eyes. "Admiral Chandler, organizing the fleet and army? How are you going to like that?"

He grinned at her and shrugged, waiting for more.

"At least you'll be able to spend some time with your children… and me…" shy cheekiness slipped into her tone at that last addition. "Give Mike Slattery a chance to shine?"

Tom almost laughed at her expression. "He'd get commander at any rate, if he wants it. I would not let the Nathan James go to anyone else. You like my XO?"

"Yes, I do. He's solid."

Now he did laugh. It felt incredible.

"Do you know yet how to get Ashley and Sam down here? The attack on Rachel… what if that was truly aimed at you?"

Chandler grimaced, turning to the window. "I thought of that, too. They might be in danger simply being my children. I'll talk to my father first thing in the morning, maybe take Mike and a couple of the guys who hail from up there to get them."

"Give them a chance to look for their own families?"

The captain nodded. "We'll need to give people opportunity for that. Maybe figure out combined missions. Where can you see yourself fitting in? Have you given that some thought?"

"I have. I could do some teaching, and also coordinating, timetables, scheduling, or back to engineering, or I guess combine both. Don't know yet where hands are most needed."

Chandler noticed with a slight thrill that she was looking forward to figuring out the future. He considered the glowing face for a long moment, watched the thoughts chasing each other over the expressive features. Finally she looked up, blushed under his gaze, and tilted her head. "What are you looking at, Admiral?" Again that unique mixture of shyness and elation, of trust and daring.

Somehow that was the last straw. Putting his glass down, he strode over to the sofa, took the glass from her fingers and pulled her to her feet. While he slowly ran his hands up her bare arms, he could feel the Goosebumps rising under his fingers. Watch the breath catch in her throat, watch her lips part, her eyes widen.

"Tom…"

His hands clenched, a shiver ran over him. To hear her call him by his given name, the deep voice rough and a little shaky… He kissed her then, the kind of kiss he had imagined in the deepest recesses of his mind, ever since he had been forced to remember the first time…

At some point he pulled back to stare down at her, to watch her swallow and try to catch her breath. For a heartbeat he hesitated, uncertain. But she met his gaze with glowing eyes, hands reaching shyly for his waist. "Tom…"

"There are limits to taking it slow, Miss Rykers." The shiver running over her answered whatever question he might have had. This time he did not have to bend his head, she lifted up onto the toes of her feet to meet him half way. His hands came around her body, pulling her close against him, fingers pulling the stick out of the heavy braid, threading into her hair, against her warm scalp.

Her hands glided over his back and shoulders with still shy deliberation and sensuality. She answered his every touch with equal need and abandon, rising fire under his skin.

Tom bent further to kiss the side of her neck, the spot that had for so long beckoned him with the pulsing of her heartbeat. A sound escaped her, so involuntary and true it shook him. He stood, leaning his forehead against hers, giving them both a moment to catch their breaths.

"Too fast?" his voice was a rasp.

In answer the slender fingers slowly moved to open the buttons on his shirt and push the fabric off his shoulders. Her hands shook slightly running over his chest with a pure sensual pleasure that had him grinding his teeth. With an intake of breath she pulled the fabric of his tshirt out of his trousers and pulled it upwards, until he shrugged out of it and had it fall to the floor uncaringly. He hesitated, caught by the expression in her eyes.

Meeting his gaze again, she swallowed. The hint of that elfin smile played around her lips.

"Tom." She lifted both hands into the air, and Chandler instantly took the step to stand a hairs breath before her, grabbed the green fabric of her dress at the waist and with a gentle but sure movement pulled it over her head.

 **AN:** _Nah, I couldn't let Rachel die after all, whatever the show is doing or not doing. So should I try my hand at taking this further, or skip over details elegantly and have them wake up the next morning?_

 _I have no idea how long I will keep writing this. Summer is coming, be patient with me._


	29. Chapter 29

AN: _Sorry for the long wait. So this one is long and somewhat heavy, and the beginning might warrant a T rating for "adult themes" – my first try. I have a few more chapters I would like to put down, taking this firmly into AU and away from Season 3 (which I still haven't touched, though of course by now I know Rachel's fate), maybe include a time jump. Next chapter will first have them face Rachel, then take them to Norfolk and Chandler's children. Input / reviews / suggestions welcome! (will try to incorporate those I got! Tex namely…)_

 _It's still a little daunting the number of followers and guestsreviewers/PMs I have! Love you guys for sticking with me!_

Chapter 29

Tom Chandler woke to the first rays of sun slanting through the windows. Becoming aware slowly of his surroundings, he noticed with slight surprise that he had slept soundly. He turned over carefully to lean on one arm, looking down on the languid form stretched out besides him. She slept on her belly, one arm curled around her head, a soft blush on her cheeks, the long lashes a dark shadow above them. Her hair was a silky mass of dark amber curls.

He smiled.

* * *

He had made her loosen her braid, fascinated by the way the dark curtain fell down her back and moved with each of her moves. They had both tread carefully at first, the exploration of each other's bodies tentative. Eyes meeting often, asking for consent, reassurance, receiving and returning assurance, asking for more... His hands hot on her silken skin, her long fingers electric with their every touch.

When he had finally pushed inside her for the first time, her gasp had mingled with his groan. As slowly and tenderly as they had begun, they had ended explosively, sweat and breath mingling, too.

He had thought her asleep, curled up against him with her head on his chest, sometime after they had come together for the second time.

She had chuckled silently, prompting him to nudge her gently. "What?"

Laughter directed at herself swung in her voice. "I just thought: There is a world out there."

"Everything ok down there?" he could not help teasing her, even though she had voiced his own thoughts.

She had lifted her head to rest her chin on the long fingers. "I sound ludicrous, I know..." she trailed off, reading in his face that he knew exactly what she had meant.

"I know, Elf, stolen time." But well used, he did not add. She might not be very experienced, but her intuition and sensuality made up in excess for whatever she might lack in knowledge. He touched her brow lightly. "You ok?"

Her answer was a shyly direct look. "Yes." And in an even quieter voice: "You?"

He had rolled her over so he could cup her cheek in his hand and kiss her gently. "Aye, very much so."

A moment later he had settled on his back again, pulling her with him. "We should sleep." He had wrapped one arm more comfortably around her shoulders, avoiding any notion she might have about returning to her own room. He had been serious about her not leaving his sight.

* * *

Of course thoughts of Darien had crept in then, he had felt a stab of guilt. But neither him nor the creature in his arm had planned this, and it had felt incredible. Not only the purely physical, life-affirmative act of making love, but to have this too-thin, quiet, intense young woman reciprocating his every touch and emotion, to know how his touch and his gaze could arouse such desire and passion in her...

The months leading up to tonight had covered a lot of ground.

Had the places been reversed, as he and Darien had thought they would be - who could easily imagine a scenario where the navy captain came home unharmed and the mother of two died way before her time - had the places been reversed, as they had discussed a few times, he would have hoped for her to find someone to fill the gap... Not completely, such a gap could not be filled whole, but someone who would make her, or now him, look at the horizon again.

He was curious how she would interact with Sam and Ashley...

"Should I go?" The young woman had not moved an inch, her whisper but a breath.

"You should sleep. A commodore sometimes has to think." He had felt her smile, and finally sleep had crept up on him.

* * *

His thoughts turned to the future. How to best get his children down to St Louis, and how to give his crew a chance to reconnect with what might be left of their families. How to prepare for other fanatics that might harbour a grudge against Rachel Scott or other members of his crew - his extended crew. How to take care of those that knew nobody beloved was waiting for them. What kind of resources were waiting for him, what kind of people would this new president surround himself with? The best way to use Raymond's network, the hard work of rebuilding trust…

He must have thought too loud again, Alviarin stirred. Her head was turned to the window, he could watch her open her eyes, make sense of her surroundings, and with a slight blush rising into her features turn her head to gaze up at him. For a moment they looked at each other, uncertain if the previous evening had changed things into an unexpected direction. Tom could not guess what she read in his face, but the grey eyes shone and the serious features softened into a shy, matter of fact smile that seemed to reflect his own thoughts back at him. A _ll right, now that's been tried and not found lacking, let's move on._

"Good morning, elf."

"G'morn, sir."

"So, I would like to start this day early, get updates all around. But we could see what passes for breakfast in this place."

"That sounds good." He smiled again at her complacent tone, kissed her quickly on the cheek and got up.

He returned from the bathroom to find her standing at the window, taming the long shining tresses into a heavy braid. For a moment he watched, mesmerized. Darien's blond hair had been lovely, but she had never worn it longer than barely touching her shoulders. This was something else. The dark hair hung down way below Alviarin's waist, the agile finger's movement giving it the semblance of something alive. The morning sun painted light amber streaks into the complicated design, and tinted her warm ivory skin alabaster. She was too thin, but the curves emphasized by the contrasting light were sweet and soft and muscular underneath... He remembered the feeling of her skin under his hands...

As if feeling his regard, the young woman turned, pulling the braid up into a figure eight and fixing it with the stick again. Her movements were automatic and graceful, thoughtless. She tilted her head alertly at him. Tom swallowed. "Bathroom's free, if you want to take a shower?"

Alviarin nodded, grabbed her dress and the rest of her clothes. At the door she hesitated, meeting his glance. Almost embarrassed that he had not been able to look away even for a second, he watched her take a breath and ask with cautious humour: "Care to join me?"

* * *

Even so, the hotel was still fast asleep when they stepped into the corridor. Tom turned, facing the girl: "Listen, I'll knock on Mike's door, get news on Dr. Scott's attacker. You said you wanted to return to your room? Meet you in the breakfast area?"

Alviarin hesitated, pushing an escaped strand behind her ear. "Tom, the crew...do we tell, I mean... What would they say..."

Chandler smiled at her sudden inability to voice her thoughts. He tilted her face upwards. "Gone is the eloquence? You mean, should we tell people?"

She smiled helplessly and shrugged. "Tex knows, and so does Mike Slattery..."

"You'll tell me later how Tex Nolan of all people knows. Alvi, I'm back to being an official person outside this room. I'll certainly not hide 'us', but apart from a situation forcing my hand, I don't like to talk about my private life. Let them draw their own conclusions. Good enough?"

She surprised him by standing on her toes and pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. "Yes, thank you. I 'm not yet ready to share you with the world. I'll meet you downstairs."

She turned then, hands deep in the pockets of the dress, and walked off, a bounce in her step.

* * *

"This does not work for me!" There was considerable force behind who Alviarin was beginning to think of as _her captain_ 's words.

It was early evening. She had started at the sudden hard knock on the door of her room. Tom Chandler had stood outside, breath-taking in his dress uniform, blue eyes ablaze. Her smile had come unbidden, elation spreading from her belly. But his obvious agitation took her aback. His features were tense, hiding behind a scowl. She had barely motioned with a hand, stepping aside. Whatever was on the tall man's mind, tearing at the edges of his constraint, they had better discuss it inside. He had entered without a word, making her skin tingle with his nearness and the tension he was barely containing.

Now he started pacing the room. Alviarin watched him, torn between fear and bemusement. Unbidden the comparison to an imprisoned tiger came to mind. She would take whatever came, but her heart was pounding.

"Captain..." The old - how quickly it had become 'old' - address slipped over her lips. He threw one look at her and changed course, sudden fire in his eyes, cupping her face in his hands and kissing her hungrily. The young woman held on for dear life, relieve flooding her, but finally pushed gently at him. "What is it? What doesn't work?"

"Being scooped up in a stuffy room full of politicians who want to see a hero, want to hear a story. It took forever to get to important issues. I had to entrust the safety of my people to civilians _I_ didn't know!"

"Tom, slow down. Nothing happened, right? Rachel is better, she woke before midday." "Rachel Scott is gonna take a long while to recover, and Mike was _not_ completely satisfied that her attacker is the last of the dangerous fanatics." Tom was still worked up, unwilling to let her calm words ease his temper.

"The crew has been scouting the town in groups, as the XO certainly told you. Letting people see them. Look for whatever might be suspicious. Your initiative, remember?" That had been just after the early breakfast, when Mike Slattery and others of the crew had trundled in, some with their heads between their hands, some alertly asking after the scientist's health.

"So where were you the whole day?" The words were harsh, holding a challenge.

Alviarin squared her shoulders. "First I went exploring with Andrea Garnett, Tex and his daughter, then walked with Alanna and Stephen Waters for a bit, and after I saw Rachel, the last couple of hours I joined Val in her make-shift server-lab. I thought she went and reported to you when I left her."

Tom stared at her for a long moment, then chagrin passed over his face, changing into the warm smile that she could not help but answer. "I'm sorry, elf, barging in here all worked up and frustrated. I hated sitting there, not knowing where you were, half expecting news like last night or worse at any minute." He had sat down on the wooden chair with a sigh.

Working through his words spread the warmth in Alviarin's belly even further. "Your orders were to stick together, in teams of three or more."

"You are not crew, as you reminded me once!"

Alviarin almost answered with a cheeky sneer, but seeing the expression in the still stormy blue eyes, she touched his cheek shyly and told him seriously: "I'm not obtuse, you know? The wound still hurts, this town is new to me, and I'm overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of what lies before us all. I'm not going to push the boundaries of common sense. "

His large hands came up to encircle her waist, pulling her a little closer. "You're not promising to follow my orders."

She would have taken a step back had not his gentle grip held her in place. Her hands came to rest on the golden epaulettes, trying hard not to fidget. "Tom... I promise to not wilfully, knowingly go against them without good reason." She took a breath. This would have to be enough for the moment.

"I guess I will have to be content with this much for the moment," Tom acquiesced somewhat surprisingly.

Trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground, she asked: "So what else did you tackle today? Sam and Ashley?"

He looked tired now, shrugged out of the jacket. "How to distribute and fabricate the cure in large quantities, how to organize information issues and security. They are offering me the use of a large house in the former 'rich part of town', garden included. I plan to look at it -" He was interrupted by her stomach grumbling loudly. Alviarin felt a blush heating her cheeks. But Tom glanced up, amusement in his eyes, and asked: "You haven't eaten either? I heard today that food so far is not a huge issue, a couple of farms and factories were kept running, albeit low, and now with the cure more fields and farms can be made to produce quickly. Mike told me the Navy was everywhere welcome..."

"That's what I felt and heard, too."

He stood suddenly, turned to the window.

The young woman watched him, feeling a frown forming. It slowly dawned on her what was bothering the captain. "Tom..."

He did not answer, reaching for the window frame with both hands. Alviarin took a silent breath.

"I think we all feel it. We should be relieved, happy, looking forward. Instead we are partly riddled with mistrust, remembering Baltimore. Shocked by the attack on Rachel, in the wake of the inauguration party of all things. Feel lost in this big, crowded, yet still empty city, miss the tight, familiar quarters of the Nathan James. Have to find our places anew now that this step of the journey is done. But keep up the strong face of the navy, because it's expected, and it gives hope and confidence."

He was leaning his forehead against the window, muscles straining against the shirt, knuckles white. "On the Nathan James, I had them all as safe as I could make them. I know each and every one of them can and will take care of her or himself - and each other. But it's hard to release them..."

She stepped up behind him then, daring to wrap her arms around his middle, laying her head against his back. She felt him take a deep breath, and his arms came down to cover her hands. For a long while they stood like this, tension seeping slowly out of the tall man.

"Darien could do this, too, sometimes." The young woman could not suppress the small jolt that went through her at his words. She stayed silent, alert to the change of the mood in him.

"Read my inner turmoil and make me put it into words, changing it into something to tackle, not something to worry." His hands tightened on hers, and she returned the gentle pressure.

"And it's commodore now, if you insist on using titles, Elf."

There was disgruntled laughter in his voice. Alviarin replied in kind: "Only sometimes, sir."

His stomach vibrated with silent laughter under her hands. Finally Tom said: "Let me slip out of the uniform and let's see what we can find to eat."

* * *

They left the hotel together a few minutes later, only to run into the blond chief Engineer. Chandler nodded at her. "Andrea, back from the _James?_ Everything going well?"

"Aye, Sir. Miss Rykers. Shift's over, a few of the locals took some of the other guys out to the few places that still serve food." The blue eyes of the slender woman had passed from one to the other, but she had adopted a neutral expression without hesitation.

"Hi, Chief, again!" the younger woman smiled. A wordless glance passed between her and the captain, and he gave a tiny twitch of his shoulders and asked: "We are going to look for food, too. Care to join us?"

"Gladly."

The two women quickly started discussing the on-going work on the ship, with Chandler listening and observing. Finally he could take in the surroundings with more ease. He was engrossed in the almost normal way the city presented itself, when a few words passed between his two comrades pulled him out of the reverie. He touched Alviarin's arm.

"You went to see Dr. Scott, too? How did that go?"

"Too? - In my case, she was so drowsy and high on painkillers, I could not approach anything more serious than the fact that St. Louis is a nice city." Alviarin snorted lightly. "I'm just glad she's gonna be fine... You went to the hospital?"

"I made the president give me an hour after lunch, but she was asleep when I got there. We can try again tomorrow. Andrea, did you talk to Miss Rykers?"

At the shake of the blond head, he kept talking. "Chief Engineer Garnett would be grateful for your help supervising the repair, for a while at least. You ok with that?"

Alviarin smiled widely from one to the other.

"Absolutely. I'm glad you ask. I need to do something – empty days are not for me."

Andrea Garnett nodded. "Not necessarily right now, it's gonna take a few days to get the work crew up to date, but any time you feel up to it."

They ran into Mike Slattery and Tex and his daughter Kathleen not long after, and together found a small restaurant that offered a short selection of dishes.

"Have you kept this place open all these months? How?" Tex demanded unbelievingly of the owner.

"I chave, indeed." The landlord was a short, round, balding man of Hispanic background with a pockmarked, lined face that had welcomed them with a wide smile, while the black eyes looked tragic. "Life must go on, no?"

"But how did you manage?"

"I chave a brother, who works se farm, where we get supplies. And I chave a nephew, who was visiting, when… when se world turned over. Che has been chelping."

"Well, good for you!"

Kathleen piped up curiously: "But do people come here?"

"Yes, yes, I chave guests that always come. But sit, I bring wine? I chave a fresh chicken paella on the stove, if you like?"

He vanished into the kitchen, while the group sat around a dark round table. Remarks flew back and forth, until the tall, somewhat gangly form of a not yet middle-aged man darkened the door to the kitchen again. The nephew, presumably, greeted them and started setting the table.

Mike Slattery put into words what the group had only loosely touched upon.

"So what passes for payment? Money can't have much worth?"

The man straightened and smiled. "You're not paying for anything. Tonight is our treat." He spoke almost without an accent.

That brought frowns all around, but their host would not give. "No, uncle was adamant. Being who you are and having brought what you did, we want to make you feel welcome."

"But what if the rest of the crew comes here, too?" Kathleen threw in without thinking.

Amidst the resulting laughter, the tall man said: "We would have to figure something out for sure. But for tonight, enjoy this and know we are honoured to have you."

"Join us, you and your uncle!" That was Tex, who's arm lay comfortably around his daughter's shoulders.

The two men sat down with them, and bit by bit stories were exchanged. The two brothers had set up shop together, one running a chicken and goat farm, the other entertaining a small restaurant serving simple food or tapas and fine wine. The two potatoe fields they worked together. While the farmer's family had all survived the outbreak, luck would have it that the landlord's wife and daughter had been visiting with the daughter's husbands family, and had most certainly been lost. The nephew had been visiting, also to help out in the restaurant, and thus been spared the almost complete wipe-out of his home-town.

Of course the two locals asked questions of the Navy group, but polite, careful and unobtrusive, proving good taste and manners. They explained how in the small network of their friends and customers the otherwise sparingly used practise of dealing in favours or work-deals, special services and even goods had become an almost every day occurrence. People were grateful for what the tavern offered, and paid with help or whatever they could spare. Friendships were proved or ripped apart under pressure…

"Uncle mostly served regulars – older people, some with Hispanic background like him, those who never cooked for themselves… for us here in , things didn't change so much. And the cellars were full, the chicken kept laying eggs, the goats didn't dry up overnight… If we had closed the restaurant, he'd never have gotten over auntie and my cousin. It's hardest to know nothing." The nephew, who had introduced himself as Oriol Garcia, then changed the subject deftly as his uncle returned to the room.

"So where are you guys staying, and will you be staying here for longer?"

The question rose the issue that had been foremost on many minds. Chandler, asked by his XO, admitted that he did not like the idea of living in a grand villa with his children. Slattery and Tex Nolan then told of the offer they had gotten – a newish row of two-family houses with small gardens which had stood not quite finished and empty for the last months, and now were being offered to the Navy people – crew could move in in small groups, Lt Green and his soon-to-be-wife could take one and stay close to their friends, at least until it had been figured out who would want to stay in St. Louis, and who would want to relocate permanently.

"Not all two hundred of us can fit, but we could make it work. There's this block of flats that they cleared for us, too. Some want to leave for home as soon as possible."

"Tex, have you figured out what you and your kid will do?"

Nolan shared a glance with his daughter, who shrugged. "We've not yet decided, but Kathleen likes it here, and I could be of use… We'll see. Maybe stay for a bit. So Cap, you going to get your kids?"

Chandler nodded, glancing into the faces turning his way. "In the next days. The president is settling in, security is being handled, most of the crew should have found a place to sleep. I'll have the XO commandeer a helo." He smiled a little at the grins.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Chandler walked down the corridor of the St. Louis hospital with his hands consciously relaxed at his side. The dress uniform he was required to wear whenever he met with the president still felt wrong. And while he was impatient to get a real life update of the doctor's condition and treatment, his need to address what was – more importantly, _was not_ going on between them tingled in his consciousness.

He was greeted with warm smiles by the nurses and two doctors he had met already on the first occasion he had come to see Dr. Scott. The two guards posted in the corridor withdrew to the staircase around the corner.

His own smile widened when he noticed Alviarin sitting in the hall, chatting with a young mother and her chubby toddler. Her face lit up when she saw him, and she stood, mindful of the child, but without hesitation.

They grasped each other's hands, the morning already busy enough to feel like too long time had passed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Dr. Milkowsky gave me a check-up on the shoulder two floors down. I planned to see Rachel anyway, so I came upstairs. But then this little person stumbled over my feet, and I have been chatting with his mother for a few minutes now. What about yerself?"

He had to smile at her effort to simulate Tex' accent.

"Checking up on the doctor. Glad I caught you. What did Milkowsky say?"

"He gave me a couple of exercises. I'm fine. Said Rachel is recovering, as well, and that she had quite a few visitors."

"Glad to hear that. Garnett said you went with her to the ship? Shouldn't you be taking it easy, still?"

The young woman shrugged and nodded in the same motion, eyes smiling. "I'm burning to tell you what we've been up to, but maybe first we should – or if you'd rather go in alone?" she motioned at the door to the doctor's room.

"Come, Elf, let's do this together."

Chandler pulled her to him for a short moment. Then he let her enter the room before him, still caught by the radiant smile. He liked the way her face got animated when she talked. The long braid hanging down her back carried him back to a moment when her hair had undulated around her naked shoulders as he buried his hands in it.

He pulled himself back to the present with an almost angry start, but the damage was done.

Rachel was sitting propped up against hospital cushions in the bed. She was pale, her hair was pulled back from her face. There was an IV-needle in the back of her hand, otherwise her injury was covered by gown and blankets. An emptied food-tray stood on the little table at her side. She had looked up at the Elf's entrance, and broken into a huge smile seeing who followed her. But now her eyes went wide, going from one to the other.

"What is going on?" The scientist's tone filled with surprise and suspicion, red spots were raising into her cheeks.

Tom Chandler noticed with inward chagrin that whatever careful approach to the subject he or the quiet girl at his side may have had planned, it had just been washed down the drain.

Alviarin had offered a friendly greeting, voice and eyes telling clearly of her happiness to find the friend awake and clear-eyed, but also of an apprehension she could not hide. Tom's expression, entering behind the young woman, must have given Rachel Scott the clue – or maybe only confirmed what her subconscious surely must have suspected.

Alviarin tried to save the moment. "Rachel, it is so good to see you sitting up and eating. Yesterday…"

But her words were swept aside like so many spider webs by the older woman. Rachel was addressing the tall man solely, sparing hardly a glance for her former charge after the first sentence: "I know you came to visit yesterday. What is this?" Coldness seeped into her voice. "It's been what, two days since we talked? Are you trying to make a point?"

Alviarin took a step back, face pale. It was the same quiet withdrawal Tom had witnessed a few times during the last days.

Rachel picked up on it, suddenly, and said rather coldly: "Yes, maybe let us discuss this alone."

Chandler blocked the Elf's path without looking at her.

"There is no need for-"

"For what? Surprise? You said I should come find you…? How was I to understand that?" Rachel's stare was full of accusation and incomprehension.

"Rachel." Calm assertiveness filled the slightly rough voice. "I will always hold you in the highest regard. You have my utmost respect as a scientist and as a woman. You will always have my admiration and thanks for what you accomplished, for your strength."

Cold anger flashed from the dark eyes. "Then what is this?" She motioned at Alviarin.

"If you read any romantic meaning into my words, my behaviour, then I am sorry, that was not my intention." Tom continued in the same measured tone, biting down hard on a more heated answer. He was fairly certain he could not be faulted in his behaviour toward the woman.

"Clearly," Rachel sneered. "When did _this_ happen? Right after you got so mad at me you wanted to let me rot in a cell?"

Her words eased the knot in his stomach. She was angry, not truly hurt.

"There are many things we will never agree on, Dr. Scott."

She cut off what he wanted to add with a motion of her hand. "So this _is_ about Sorensen?"

Sudden anger flooded Tom, for himself and for the intense, shivering young woman somewhere behind him… even considering what a bad surprise this visit was turning out to be for Rachel Scott.

" _This-_ " he wrapped his arm decisively around Alviarin's shoulder and pulled her to him, never raising his voice nor changing his intonation. "- _this_ started long before Sorensen entered the ship."

"I don't believe you." But her voice betrayed defiance and fury.

Chandler almost smiled. Wasn't this how their conversations had ended so often? At least she was so well recovered that she was fighting with him. Refusing to meet his eyes, she looked out of the window.

"I think we should continue this conversation at a later time. I look forward to finding you in even better health by the time I return from Norfolk. I'm fairly certain your recovery will be made easier by my absence." He did smile then, putting warmth into his gaze. "Rachel, we've been through so much, I would hope nothing can destroy the bond of friendship between us."

He felt some tension seep out of the girl at his side at his words, and felt himself relax a fraction.

Even the pale woman on the bed was touched by the change of dynamic. She took a deep breath, turned her head back to him, and answered somewhat stiffly: "I think I would prefer some rest now. Have a safe trip."

It was a dismissal, filled with the first threads of grudging acceptance.

After a moment, Tom turned for the door, Alviarin still in his arm. The girl hesitated, and as if feeling that, Rachel looked up again.

"Alviarin…"

The elf turned fully, unhappiness in her every motion.

"Rachel, I never knew, never meant to hurt you. I tried to talk to you."

Cool, superior curiosity emanated from the still form on the bed. "I don't understand. You are such a shy, strange, inexperienced creature. Sure, you saved his life. But do you really think you can take a man… like _him?_ "

The girl stood motionless like a statue for a moment. Tom had frozen, taken aback at the exchange, and considered stepping in, when Alviarin squared her shoulders minutely, lifted her chin a fraction and gave the other woman a direct look that made the blood rise into her face. No words were said, but were not needed either.

Chandler frowned slightly, catching only the remnants of the expression on the Elf's face. He felt a bemused grin form and quickly left the room. A single look had let Rachel Scott know that they had spent the last two nights together – Alviarin had chosen to answer one side of the double meaning of Rachel's words. It was a purely female exchange.

* * *

Outside, he steered the slender girl out of the building and into the little park that encroached the hospital on three sides. There he pulled her to a stop and stood in front of her, gazing down into the grey eyes.

He found embarrassment there, and bemusement.

"You think I am a coward."

"No, Alvi, in this instance I think I can read your mind. You tend to withdraw from every situation where you are the newcomer. Don't want to intrude. Am I close?"

The elf nodded unhappily. "You have a long and intense relationship with Rachel, with all of them."

"That may well be, but now I have you in my life, and I want you exactly where you are. When I have to, I leave you to fend for yourself. The rest of the time I want you there – if this thing between us is to work, we keep building it together."

"Tom, I need you to know that I mean to leave you your space whenever you need it. I need my own personal freedom, too..."

"Treading carefully, I got it, Elf. It does not have to be your first impulse, though. This is us." Reading amusement and acceptance in the softening of her expression, Chandler pressed on. "On the same subject, can Andrea Garnett spare you for a few days before you start in earnest?"

That brought a slow frown.

"I changed my mind, already talked to Mike. I would like to take you to Norfolk, to get Sam and Ashley."

The look in her eyes pierced his heart. She veiled her expression quickly by glancing over his shoulder, but he had seen enough.

"But yesterday you said…"

"Things are happening faster than I anticipated. I want them down here as soon as I can. The Helos will be needed soon. The president could use a few days to set up office, Miss Raymond is constantly spreading her network, and Andrea mentioned that her work crew would need a few days before repairs will be fully under way. We can transport some lab equipment that is needed quickly." He glanced at his watch. Damn, time was short.

Reading his motion, Alviarin pushed away from the tree and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. They started walking.

"I would love to, I guess you know, but the children… I mean, should I?" She grimaced helplessly. "You'll have so much to talk about, to work through, don't you think my presence would hinder you guys? I'm a stranger to them."

"A stranger they liked on first impression. Look, I don't mean to present you as my lover," – god, he loved the expression that flitted over her face at his consciously casual words – "but things are going to be weird and hard and strange."

They had talked about the children on the previous evening. They had lived in the old house without their mother, but with their granddad and a strange woman and her daughter. He expected them to pack and leave everything behind. He'd undoubtedly appear different to them, it would take him a while to really know them again, understand the changes they had lived through.

"Your irrepressible optimism, your warmth and analytic way of looking at things might make a difference. You can tell them your view of St. Louis, of the last weeks…" He cleared his throat lightly. The fact that she was young, nice to look at and female might rise questions with Lydia and his dad, but Mike would be there, too. To be honest, after the debacle with Rachel Scott, he was a bit weary of the blond woman who had lived in his house for the last half year. The last times they had spoken via the screens, she had been so very cordial…

"What about where you will live?" She knew he had not yet looked at the house the local major had offered him.

"Another possibility has opened up, where a few of the crew can live close by, and we are not so exposed. Look, Elf, I don't mean to put any pressure on you. This situation is rather unique. I would like you to come, but I'll fully understand if-"

"Oh, shut up, Commodore." The slanted look she gave him was shy and evil and made him chuckle. But then she turned serious, gently pulled him to a stop.

"Tom, what would your wife say?"

He gazed down at her, the well known pain pulling gently at his insides. Suddenly the words came easily. "Darien and I… we had this pact. We both thought it would be me who would find the earlier end. But we promised each other we would… give ourselves another chance, if it should present itself."

"What you had with Darien…"

"Darien and I were together for close to sixteen years." The interlude at the hospital was still fresh in his memory. How different the three women were – the blond one, the dark haired one, and the slender Elf. He turned to walk on, pulling Alviarin along with a hand covering her long fingers. "After such a long time you know the difference between a crush on a fantasy and real companionship, mutual acceptance. Cause that's the face love, the romantic movie version, takes after children and life. We were not perfect, but we were good together." He took a breath, and regarded the young woman at his side with a slight smile. She was studiously staring ahead, but now met his glance alertly. "Yes, she would have liked you. She could seem like the sweet and jolly blonde, but she could give as good as she got. She loved music, would have envied you your voice and gift at the piano."

Alviarin managed a thoughtful smile with pain and misgiving mixed into it. "You did not get to say goodbye to her."

"In a way, every other time I left on a mission we knew there was a possibility of my not returning."

He trusted her to understand that there was nothing words could change about what had happened. The young woman leaned her head against his shoulder for a moment, both in support and commiseration.

Then she touched her finger right into another slightly sore spot. "You're disappointed how the talk with Rachel went."  
He grimaced. "I was disappointed by her actions on the Nathan James. Today she surprised me a little, I even confess to some anger, but not disappointment. I've been trying to think back if I could have acted differently, recognized her feelings for me earlier." He glanced down.

The grey eyes held amusement. Her words were measured. "It seems with all the immense knowledge of human nature you know to put to such good use on the battlefield, the simpler things like ambiguous human interactions might still elude you."

Tom Chandler cracked up helplessly. Mike had insinuated something similar the last evening. The elation to have made him laugh was written so clearly in Alviarin's cautious grin that heat flared through him suddenly.

"Making fun of me, are you?" He bent down and kissed her until she was breathless and her eyes were wide.

"Miss Rykers, we should part ways, otherwise I will never get back to that new president of ours. And no, no more questions, we have a long flight ahead of us tomorrow morning, you can ask me everything then. I don't know how much sleep I'll get tonight if I'm gone for the next days, so take some space and time for yourself." He added a gentle sneer to the last words, making her blush furiously. Her cheek felt warm in his hand. He ran his thumb over lips still a little swollen from his earlier kiss. The effort it took to return to the present and pull away from the glowing young woman was a little unexpected.

His gaze had turned earnest. Her eyes searched his face, then she reached up with cool fingers to gently pull him down for a soft kiss.

"Yes, Sir, I'll be careful, if you do the same. I'll see you when I see you, fully packed." With a lopsided smile she pulled his hand down, pressed it gently and stepped back. "Go do good work."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Mike Slattery threw himself heavily into the seat beside the young woman, glancing down at her. There was a tense pull around her mouth, she was a little pale. They had not spoken since the night Rachel Scott had been shot. Now he decided to break the slightly uneasy silence. Alviarin answered his glance with a lopsided smile. He had this not uncomfortable feeling that she was reading him with ease.

"So, it's you and Tom."

Her expression turned slightly cautious. "You don't approve?"

"That's entirely up to the commodore." He grinned his wolfish grin and made her blush.

"Right, XO."

"Elf, I have a name. Especially where we are going we can loose the titles."

"Have you had any word from your family?"

Damn, she was quick with the reading thing. "No. That letter my almost-ex-wife left mentioned a survivor's camp."

"Miller said you carry letters for some of the guys who have family up north?"

"Aye. I'll leave them with whatever authority we find there."

"Do you have any idea where that camp could be?"

"They left Deer Park camp. Back then I was more accountable to Tom and the _James_ , so I could not follow the tracks or ask people… but I do hope that by now news will have spread where those staying there went. I know Christine and the girls were fine when we left Norfolk."

"It's good you have a place to start. We can ask around. The camp was big, so there should be information on its occupants."

Tom appeared and sat down opposite them.

"Alviarin still needs to be brought up to speed." Tom rested his eyes for a long moment on the young woman.

Mike Slattery, while having noticed the chemistry between them and the effect the girl had on his friend much earlier, found himself biting his lip to keep from grinning openly. He was glad for the captain – commodore now. Tom had almost lost himself to the black hole that was the death of Darien and the horror surrounding the Achilles. This young woman was inexorably pulling him upright and into the sun again. The dark circles under the blue eyes had vanished.

"Mike, you've got the maps."

The XO pulled the bundle of papers from his pocket. "Right, Elf, here's a map of Norfolk, with a smaller one with the surroundings of Tom's house on the backside. Here-" he put his blunt finger on a large sports field on the larger map. "-is where we'll put down. Tom's father was a little worried about military type trucks. We haven't had much luck contacting our guys here. So we're careful."

The young woman nodded alertly.

"What about the medical supplies - what was it? Lab equipment? - we should take south?"

"Message has been sent, but not acknowledged. Were in a bit of a hurry, the prez wants the helo back in St. Louis within three days."

"That doesn't leave much time to look for your family…" she glanced up at Mike with serious eyes.

"I've got the two days to get more info." The look in the blue eyes was far away.

Alviarin glanced at Tom and aimed for a lighter tone. "So we'll steal you a car and some gas, and send you off while we pack."

"He's gonna go tomorrow morning. Hopefully there'll be some news when we arrive."

Tom looked down at the floor between his boots for a moment. "Listen, Miss Raymond told me of rumours not only about those war lords the locals told us, but also that the Canadians pulled some military together and are moving. Quite some factions about, some openly opposing what the latest message the Achilles spread, some questioning the integrity of the president. I fear Norfolk-Portsmouth might become a point of interest…"

"Far from clear sky ahead." Mike rumbled. The two men exchanged a long glance, weighing the situation.

Alviarin leaned her head against the backrest, considering her two companions thoughtfully. Given the chance, her insides would be singing and doing backflips for being in their company. But right now not even holding on to that feeling could completely cover her anxiety.

"Elf, you're pale. You've never been seasick, as far as I know. Something the matter?" Tom's piercing glance speared her cover. Mike looked at her searchingly, and grinned evilly.

"I don't believe it."

Alviarin frowned self-consciously. "Yes, go on, make fun of me. I hate flying."

"Why did you not say something earlier?"

"Tom, what would I have said?" Her knuckles where white now. "Making me talk about it doesn't help."

"On the contrary." Slattery was still grinning. "You proved that you're not afraid of heights, you managed to get the jump on _me_ out in the jungle – I still reserve that was only because I was so worried about the news we'd gotten – and now you turn white and shaky in the freshly checked helo with Ben in the pilot's seat? You're a conundrum, Miss Rykers!"

"Surprised you know words like conundrum, XO." Alviarin bit back, unable to keep from smiling.

"But seriously, you told me about the travelling you did as a youth – how did you manage that?" Tom threw in curiously. "You mentioned east coast USA, Italy, Austria, Norway…"

"We did a lot of that by train and car, depending on who I was travelling with."

Mike tilted his head. "Sir Francis, your uncle? Cruz mentioned that you grew up with natives in Canada? How does that fit together?"

The young woman shrugged, trying too hard for nonchalance. "That's a long story."

Mike sneered. "We've got time."

The young woman threw him a searching glance, then nodded slowly. "Cruz told you that my mother died and about the wolves? For two winters I lived with an old woman – I found her, or more, the wolves found her, and she took pity on me."

She could guess at the question in Slattery's eyes, and explained: "I learned later that she was the shaman, the medicine woman, of the tribe that later took me in. There was a horrible accident – a boy and a bear – and she was called to save the boy. She tried, but couldn't. He would have died anyway, critical voices said later. She was banished, and travelled south to live alone until her death. That was my rescue – Canadian winters are long and hard, and while a reasonable ranger, I was too young to survive. She sent me away for the summer months, probably hoping I would find the tribe, but only after she painted me a map on her deathbed, I ventured out to find them."

Slattery glanced at Chandler for support – the lanky girl's demeanour was so matter-of-fact it was almost inhuman. The deep voice was as rough as he was used to, but some of the usual warm, lively intonation was missing. Tom though was listening to the story with his gaze burning into the sightless grey eyes. Alviarin was loosing herself to the memories.

"I must have been a sight – covered in furs, feet bare, wiry frame, brown skin. I scouted their village for days, watching the people, fighting to remember things my subconscious was trying to tell me. Of course they had noticed me, even though I moved almost without trace. But three half-tame wolves will never escape notice. So finally they caught Greyhound, and threatened to kill him." She shivered, hands crawling to wrap around the knees pulled up to her chest. "They took me in, tamed me, taught me their language, made me one of them. Even accepted the three wolves. Still, everyone knew I was not theirs forever. Only later I learned that they sent word to Yellowknife the following summer, once it became clear that I had been taught reading, writing and numbers before. It took three more summers before word reached what was left of my family."

A tear slid down her cheek. Tom almost reached out to shake her out of the trance that kept her speaking, agony in his eyes. But Mike caught his eye and minutely shook his head. Let her tell it, might do her good.

As if to ward off a ghost, one slender hand reached out into the air.

"One rainy afternoon two white trappers came to the village. Us youngsters had finished school and were working on our project. I was called to the schoolhouse, where most gatherings were held. They stood there, looking at me with their scary eyes, too-white skin and silent hands. I was fourteen by then, a young woman by Inuit standards. My world crashed. I felt as if I was being pulled apart, dismantled, until the six year old stood there, naked to the bone."

Mike reached out then, engulfing the slender, directionless fingers in his large paw. Tom seemed unable to move, tears in his eyes. The XO frowned slightly at his superior. Frozen as he was by the story, Tom seemed even more affected.

"It was my father and Uncle Mike. They stayed for two months. But before the blizzard season started, they had me at a point where I understood – or was curious enough – that my world was not at the bottom of that valley."

She wiped a hand over her face then and startled at the moisture on her fingers. Glancing around with the wild, fey look the two men knew from a few moments on the _Nathan James_ , she found her right hand still safely clasped in Slattery's. Rubbing her brows, she consciously calmed her features, pulled her fingers free with a shy glance, and - intention clear in her tone – finished: "My introduction to civilisation - a small fokker. We'd been late, the clouds were amassing. My uncle flew us out of the valley where they had moored the plane – you can probably imagine how bad that trip was."

She met their eyes then levelly, unclasped her seatbelt and with a single motion stood. "Give me a moment, please."

Mike stared out the window for a long moment, going through the young woman's story in his mind. "You knew all that?" He turned his head to look at the friend, finding a strange expression in Tom's face.

"Most of it, I guess."

"You guess?"

Chandler pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "Back on the island…" - one glance to make sure Mike was with him, choosing his words slowly – "my first conscious memories are following her voice through the darkness and the pain to the surface. I asked her to keep talking, scared to fall back down into oblivion, but also to keep myself from trying too hard to worry at all the empty spots in my memories. That voice was my anchor. So yes, I heard that story, and more, but only parts of them are in my conscious memory. That was as hard for me to listen to."

Slattery turned back to the window. After a long while he checked quickly to make sure the young woman was not in listening distance, then he caught the other man's eyes.

"Careful of your words now, old friend." Tom cautioned him, rather dryly.

"Actually, that girl gives hope. Hope to me thinking of my girls, hope to this jigsaw world we've returned to. Makes her creeping up on me a bit less of a disgrace."

"You never saw her train with that stave?" Tom motioned to the long dark staff that lay with their weapons. "She held Wolfman's attack, blindfolded."

Mike felt his brows raise. Wolfman was impressive – the young woman his equal? "To have survived this young, she must have remarkable, almost photographic memory and skill. Guess it could have gone either way – her brain a sponge soaking up everything; or closing down on the world and staying where life was what she knew."

"She became a mathematician. Those roots must have been there for that uncle to see." Tom was reluctant to discuss the young woman, too near the turmoil in his own memories.

Mike squared his shoulders. "We all set for Norfolk? It's weird that we've had such bad luck with the connection. Our guys would try and keep contact. How much weight do you put into those warlords?"

"Enough to worry me. Mercenaries are always to be found, and we've seen that people get warped easily… twice already."

Mike pressed his lips together. Tom's opinion was close to his own.

That moment, the young woman returned and calmly sat down beside him again. He smiled inwardly. The fleeting expression on his superior's face spoke of more than 'her voice' attracting the commodore to the elf.

"Hey, didn't you come onto the _James_ with nothing but threadbare jeans, a shirt and that coat? How come you're all fresh-faced and clean suddenly?" He put enough sneer and friendly challenge in his words to make the young woman blush a little and Tom's head snap up.

"Andrea Garnett, Kathleen and I were invited to pick up whatever we needed from a local warehouse." Alviarin answered his attempt at a lightening of the mood in kind, comically raised nose and arrogant tone underlining her expressive features. "The father of one of our work crew has an Old Mountains shop. Told his son to invite whoever needed something to come by. Andrea picked a few and we went together. Now I own three shirts, two pairs of pants and two dresses." She grinned freely, childishly happy at the sudden increase of her possessions. "Oh, and Tom…" she hesitated, meeting his eyes somewhat shyly, "I picked out two things to give to Ashley and Sam, if that's ok. Small backpacks and a dress for Ashley and shirt and pants for Sam."

Tom Chandler studied the young woman for a moment. He understood her wariness to face them after she had retold the story of her childhood. That she had been thoughtful enough to think of presents for his children touched him, and the practicability of said presents proved her mindfulness. Right, she was waiting for an answer.

"You're two steps ahead of their father, Miss Rykers. Good thinking."

She frowned at him. "You're tired."

"Yes. Didn't get much sleep."

"We've got what, three more hours to go? Rest!"

"Seconded, Tom. We can hold down here."

Chandler stretched out his long legs, leaning them against the young woman's in a base search for human contact. Closing his eyes, he almost immediately fell into the light slumber he had trained himself for in situations like this.

Slattery glanced down at the Elf. "You mind if I ask a questions?"

"Go ahead." She gave him a half curious, half amused look.

"You got sent to normal school? I mean you went to university…"

"Yes and No. You've got to understand that my father died not half a year after they picked me up. He'd had it pretty hard, certain he had lost wife and daughter in one day, and the shock of finding me alive years after he had stopped looking… He caught a lung infection."

"I'm sorry."

She sighed. "Afterwards Uncle Mike put his foot down that putting me in a college would result in chaos and destruction. So whoever of the six brothers had the most interesting months ahead of him took me along. I was officially home-schooled until the last year – European style – and saw the world, off the main tourist tracks."

"But that's kinda a big responsibility to take on…"

"Yes. They were a close knit bunch, even though their careers took them to all corners of human existence. They tried to help dad with mother's sickness. Came to visit every few months, persuade him to seek help, or at least relocate to a more populated area. They always took an interest in my brother and me, since we were the only offspring. I wasn't always an easy stowaway, but I was curious. They nurtured that curiosity."

She smiled slightly in memory.

Slattery watched her thoughtfully. "You said Sir Francis never took you on the _Serenity_?"

"I've been on her, even spent a few nights. But never when she went out to sea. He was a stickler for protocol. But he's the one who made me understand how the navy works. He gave me outlines, and made me imagine situations and the repercussions of single actions."

"You were _on_ the _Serenity_?"

The young woman chuckled at the expression on the XO's face. She would spend the next half our trying to visualise the famous cruiser in and outside for the tall officer.

After Slattery came back from a quick visit with the pilot he found not only the too-large dark green coat spread over his senior officer, but the young woman facing him with cautious expectancy.

"So you want to turn the tables now?"

"Talking really helped with the anxiety. So – who is the woman staying with Tom's family?"

Mike almost grinned at her, but then understood that it was pure curiosity, not jealousy or fear making Alviarin ask that question.

"How much do you know about the _Nathan James'_ travels before we touched down in Baltimore? Heard the name Quincy before?"

"Rachel gave me a short overview, and of course I picked up a few things here and there. He was her partner – scientifically speaking, but his wife and daughter had been kidnapped by Russians when you set out for the arctic? He was to deliver the cure to the enemy?"

Now it was Slattery's turn to swallow and press his lips together, remembering the horrors of those days. "That's the gist of it. There were a few bad interludes, risks taken, heroes made. Rachel Scott proved her mettle then…" He threw a quick glance at the quiet young woman. "Tom needed her to finish the cure, and she needed his protection and strength. The respect and trust they ended up building for each other had to be earned, on both sides."

Alviarin met his eyes, wary realisation in her expression. "You know about… her feelings for him."

"… and about what went down yesterday. Tom mentioned it. I'm the XO, Alviarin, I have to know things."

"Right."

There was something dry in her voice that made him narrow is eyes at her.

"Anyway. Once we got Quincy to the point where he told us about his wife and daughter, we managed to extricate them."

"Only to have him die in Baltimore for the cure's safety. And then when the _James_ took on Ashley and Sam and Tom's dad, they got thrown together and decided…"

"… to wait it out together, after Tom came back to the ship." Slattery finished her thought. He could not help tease her a little: "She maybe blond, but I don't think you have to fear her…"

The look he caught almost made him feel bad. Alviarin glanced away at once, eyes coming to rest on the sleeping form opposite.

"Do you think Rachel will ever talk to me again?"

"Was it that bad?"

Her eyes were a little feverish as she glanced up at him. "To be honest, I am not very experienced in any sense of the word – concerning relationships. I have no idea how a woman would react to having her … crush destroyed by someone she - I hope - considered a friend."

Slattery shrugged somewhat uncomfortably. "Could you have known? Did you talk about him? Did she know about your feelings?"

Alviarin shook her head slowly.

Mike leaned forward a little to look out the window. His voice was even dryer than usual. "There are many men who have no moral issue with what she did, me included. But to expect Tom to glaze over what she did and just move on, shows how little she understands the man he his. Not even mentioning his responsibilities as a captain – with a new, untrustworthy president on board and the situation the _James_ was in at that time."

Slattery shrugged, pursing his lips. Glancing over his shoulder at the young woman, he met unreadable grey eyes.

"Change of subject?"

"Aye, aye, Sir."


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Alviarin finally had a moment to herself. She leaned her head against the door she had shut behind her and closed her eyes.

Since they had arrived, time had either stopped still with everything that had happened, or been switched to fast forward, she didn't know which. The impressions were playing behind her lids incessantly.

* * *

The XO and she had stood half awkward, half moved, watching the reunion, staying in the background. It gave Alviarin the chance to take in the gracious house and lawn, grown feral with the enforced neglect. And the people…

Ashley, tall, too serious for her twelve years, who threw herself at her father breaking into tears only when she was safely hidden under his arms. By the time she wrapped her arms around Mike's middle with a more measured "Hi, Uncle Mike!", she could smile again.

She had nodded seriously at the young woman. "Hello Alviarin."

Sam, whose dark hair had been cut recently and now stood in different directions in tufts, who tried so hard to be as cool and calm as his granddad, who tried to press the air out of his dad when Tom found a free hand to wrap around him. Who stopped before Alviarin, eyes suspicious, until his brows wrinkled and he burst out: "Dad did not say you would come."

"I did not know myself until yesterday. He said he could not reach you."

"The internet was down. Granpa says there are factions."

"So here we are now." She did not make it a question.

Sam considered her. "Dad said they call you Elf, now."

"Yes, they do." She could not help the smile breaking through her reticence.

"But we were the first, Ashley and me."

"And your Uncle Mike made them all remember that."

The boy threw a measured glance at the XO, who winked at him. Satisfied, he nodded.

Then there was Jed Chandler, solid, shorter than his son, pure steel his eyes and face. His handshake was short and correct, his look scrutinised her. He would have ushered them in the front door, had not from the next house over a slender blond woman called out.

"Tom! Thank God, you made it!"

As Alviarin watched the neighbour walk over with her daughter, a blond girl about Ashley's age, Mike Slattery bent his head closer to her ear. "That's Kelly Tophet and her daughter Ava. Quincy's family."

"They didn't stay in the same house after all?" She mouthed back at him, watching Tom stiffen ever so slightly at the woman's familiar approach. This was a side of him she had hardly seen – now he was a private person, father of two children, neighbour, resident.

"Nah – didn't I tell ya? They moved next door, house was empty."

"Right." There was no time to say more, Mike stepped forward to introduce her to Kelly Tophet.

The blond woman shook her hand cordially. "It's nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Tophet."

"Kelly, please."

"Kelly, then." She smiled.

"You're not navy, are you? I barely remember seeing you on the ship– but you were not part of the crew?"

Before Alviarin could form an excuse for her presence, the XO stepped in. "Miss Rykers here got hurt pretty badly saving my life. She's still recuperating, and since Tom and I thought it would be nice for Sam and Ashley to have somebody tell them about St. Louis and help them with the packing, she agreed to come along. Hi Kelly," he took her hand, engulfing it in his broad paws. "Good to see you again."

"Mike, you do look the same!" The blonde's eyes returned to the lanky woman who would have tried to hide behind the broad back. "There's a story for a long evening, I'm sure!"

Shrugging, Alviarin made an effort to withstand the many pairs of eyes resting on her.

"I'm an engineer, I'm to supervise the teams working on the _Nathan James_. But work will only start in a few days, and I hate sitting around. Besides," her eyes strayed over to Ashley, Sam and Ava, who were standing besides each other and watching their exchange alertly. "I was glad at the opportunity to see these guys again."

"But you'll stay on in St. Louis." Sam said it rather matter-of-factly.

Ashely tried to hush her brother. "Sam." At the same moment, Jed Chandler admonished: "Slow down, young man. Maybe she has family somewhere else."

Tom's hoarse voice cut gently through the voices: "Let's head inside. You can ask the Elf everything later. Kelly, I'll come over in a bit."

"Sure, Tom, enjoy your family. They've missed you." The blond woman beamed up at him. "Come, Ava, let's leave them to catch up."

They had picked up their backpacks and headed inside, Jed leading the way. Alviarin trailed behind a little, her heartbeat hot and loud in her ears.

The two men knew where to put their bags, moving automatically: Mike in the guest room, Tom in his – and Darien's – bedroom.

Jed had turned to her abruptly. "Didn't know you were coming, young woman, so we have no room prepared for you. You can take the office, there's a lounge chair…"

"I brought a mat, Mr. Chandler. The office is fine."

He led her to the end of the corridor on the first floor. "It's not really an office, we just call it that. It's more a spare room, mostly empty now."

Sam had trailed along with them, having seen his dad enter the main bedroom. "You can use our bathroom – Ashley's and mine. We've got two sinks, see, one for the boys and one for the girls." He hesitated a moment, then added grandly: "You can use whichever you like."

Jed Chandler frowned, but Alviarin had a hard time suppressing a smile.

"That's very generous, young man. Let's ask your sister if she's ok with this arrangement, then maybe you can show me where to put my toothbrush."

The older man had shown her the small room, then called to Ashley to bring bedclothes, and Sam had scampered off.

For a blissful moment the young woman was alone.

Then there was a slight knock at the door, and in came Ashley, her lanky arms filled with pillow and blanket. "Here, hope this makes you comfortable."

"Thanks, Ashley, that's perfect." Alviarin had a feeling she would not be able to sleep even a minute.

The girl's blue eyes regarded her with Tom's detached calm. "There's a bathroom next door to your right."

Alviarin nodded.

"It's Sam's and mine."

"Kind of you to share."

"Oh, you wouldn't want to share with Dad and uncle Mike, would you?" There was a slight sneer on the girl's lips, her eyes sparkled.

The young woman relaxed a fraction and felt her mouth curve into a grin. "Probably not." She glanced around the room curiously and returned her gaze to the girl.

"This was mum's room for sewing or crafts." Her voice had taken on a wistful tone.

"She liked working with her hands?"

"Yes. She did the curtains in our rooms, and pillows, and Sam's rabbit."

"Wow. Can you sew, too?"

"A little. I haven't done anything since…" her face contorted, she changed the subject. "Have you been on the _Nathan James_ this whole time?"

"Yes." _Wonder where this is going_.

"We could not stay, Dad would not let us. Said it was too dangerous. We'd distract him. Will you tell us about it?"

Alviarin frowned. "Sure, Ashley…" Didn't Tom talk to his children…?

The girl understood the unspoken question. "Dad always passes over the things that might scare us – or mum – but this time it's different, isn't it?" She sounded so lost, the young woman would have liked to wrap her arm around the wraith.

Instead, she tilted her head, catching the girl's eyes with humorous confidence. "It's different. I'll ask him, but I can tell you my side of the story."

Satisfied, Ashley nodded. "We'll have coffee downstairs in a bit, if you like? Are you hungry?"

"No, thanks, we had some rations on the flight. Did you eat?" She added the last question as an afterthought – the girl looked very thin.

"Yes. Granpa traded in some potatoes for a deer's leg yesterday. He's a hunter, did you know?"

"I had an idea. He was in the army, right?"

"He's a veteran!" That was Sam, who stuck his head in the door curiously. "What are you talking about?"

The older sister pushed her hand through his unruly hair. "This and that."

"You should come downstairs, everyone is sitting down." Then he stood on tiptoes to whisper something into Ashley's ear.

Alviarin took a half step back, watching them with amusement and warmth flooding through her. They left the room, conversing very quietly for a few moments, then threw a furtive glance back in at her and conversed some more. Finally, Ashley confided: "We have a surprise for Dad. Can you help us?"

* * *

So it was that Alvi entered the living-room after the two children, carrying a large platter of cookies in one hand and a cool jar of milk in the other. Tom, Mike and Jed Chandler sat around the table, Kelly Tophet between the two officers. Ava came running toward her dark-haired friends, eager to help.

The young woman had a moment to meet Tom's gaze. The blue eyes were cloudy, lying deep in the sockets, the hint of a smile gone almost instantly. She tried to return only warmth and strength and the secret delight at being so readily included by the two children. Then, while the three little people explained proudly about the effort that had gone into the preparation of the coffee-table, the Elf dropped into a chair beside the XO and took a breath. Mike glanced down at her with the slight sneer she knew well, and took comfort from. She felt Jed Chandler's steely eyes on her, and Kelly's curious, but friendly smile.

She let the conversation drift by her, taking in the gist of it – procuration of fresh food, basic school values, the fear of marauders, the efforts made to stabilise the infrastructure, the difficulties securing the empty city's outskirts, different efforts to gather information..

Instead, she considered the situation - the somewhat stiff atmosphere, the wary looks, the hidden tension. Only for the children's sake were the smiles, the laughter, the relaxed hands. … and the room. The whole house had the feeling of a well-lived in, warm home. There were pictures everywhere in the classical American way, the children in various stages of growing up, blond Darien with the wind blowing the hair over her face; Tom, young, unlined face glowing with arrogance and laughter. But one could feel the missing link, the irrevocably sundered thread that had held everything here together. The gentle hand that had dusted the crystal glasses, that had rearranged the pictures and handicraft works just so, that had filled the room now darkened by missing lightbulbs with life and laughter. Alviarin felt a chill pass through her - her first nation side would explain that no spirit was living here, watching over the children. Everything was suffused with traces of Darien, but they were lifeless traces.

She hid her face in her hand for a short moment, aware that the blood must have left her face. Glancing after the three children leaving the room for the library offered the perfect excuse to collect herself. Alviarin felt two pairs of Chandler eyes on her, Jed looked away with a slight frown when she met his eyes, but Tom's glance seemed to pierce her to her core.

Mike was telling Kelly about his plans to look for his family, and Alviarin sat up to listen more closely, when Sam's dark head popped up at her elbow.

"Did you meet the new President?"

"Wow, where did you come from?"

"From the library. Did you?"

"I … met him."

"How often?"

She bit her bottom lip. "The _Nathan James_ is rather small, when you're a grown-up person. I saw him often. I didn't count the times."

"Oh." The boy seemed disappointed. "Did you talk to him?"

"N-not really. Why?"

"I've seen him giving speeches, and that day when dad was there, too, on the grass, with the big silver ring – the inguration."

Alviarin bit her lip lightly. "The inauguration? Really? See, you'll have to tell me about that, because I was not there."

"Oh." He frowned, warring between delight at knowing something she didn't, and disappointment. He tilted his head, momentarily distracted. "Why not?"

"The doctor would not let me leave."

"Ah." He absorbed that bit of information neutrally. "Why?"

"I had gotten hurt."

"How?"

"I was shot."

"Ah. Were you disappointed you could not go?"

The young woman could not help a wry smile. "Not really. I did go on the grass later, and that was nice."

Sam was not to be side-tracked. "Ah. Okay, so … the president. Do you like him?"

"I don't know him well enough to say that I like him." Diplomacy on an eight year old's scale?

"But he is a hero." It wasn't obvious if he was posing a question or not.

Alviarin sat up straighter and turned a little more toward the boy. "Sam…"

"Isn't he? He seems so grand, the president. Everyone looks to him. He must be a hero?"

No quick answer would do. "Sam, look around this table. Your dad is a hero, Mike Slattery is a hero. Right?"

"Granddad's a hero, too."

"Agreed. They all did things that required strength and bravery - overcoming that feeling when your heart is too heavy for you to breathe. Know what I mean?"

The boy nodded solemnly, watching her with dead serious, thoughtful eyes.

"So, in my opinion – I mean the little that I know about this president – he has not yet done anything that would make him a hero. He still has to prove that he can be one. Satisfied?"

To her surprise the little face with the still chubby cheeks lightened considerably, and he gave her a thoughtful glance before turning away. "Yeah. – I'll go back now." He skipped around the occupied chairs and left into the adjourning room again.

Ashley stood in the doorway, clearly she'd been about to call her brother back to whatever work they were doing. Her dark eyes were resting on Alviarin with that reticent calm and a query in the slant of her eyebrows. She studied the young woman for a moment, gave her a solemn nod and vanished back into what seemed to be a true library or work-room.

The young woman felt Kelly Tophet's eyes on her. Alviarin prevented her question with one of her own: "They're working?"

"Yes. We tried to keep up a minimum of school, at least the basics. They've been really brave."

"I believe you. How did you fare?"

"Oh, thanks to Jed, we've been fairly fine. There is a small vegetable garden out back, he brought home two goats one day and built a shed for them one more house down."

Alviarin felt a smile tug at her face. Two goats? Kelly misinterpreted her reaction.

"Well, fresh milk for the children, there's a chicken coop in the same garden. We made do… Took a lot to learn how to handle it all, the kids took to it much faster."

"Kelly, that's honest admiration on my face. I think you did a wonderful job."

"Oh. I could not have done it without Jed."

"It takes a lot of strength not to give up. Are there many people living around here?"

The older woman seemed relieved at the change of subject. "Not many, no. A few returned recently, from the mountains. With the news of the cure things grew livelier."

"I can imagine. Sam said you saw parts of the inauguration?"

"Yes, of course. There were a few videos floating around the net."

"So electricity worked?"

"Mostly. It's the internet that's been on and off sporadically."

"Right. How are the kids doing?"

"Getting better."

"The nights?"

Kelly threw her an approving look. "Bad. It's gotten a bit better, but all three have nightmares. Understandably, I'm sure. I get them."

"Me too. How is your daughter coping?"

"Ava has been clinging to me forcibly for the first few weeks, was very wary of Jed in the beginning, but with Ashley and Sam there she thawed pretty quickly."

"She keeps her distance from Mike and the Captain, I noticed." Alviarin commented quietly.

"Yes." There was a heaviness in the blue eyes. "Come outside. I'll introduce you to Tom and Jerry. Say, where are you from?"

The young woman told her a sparing version of her studies, while they visited the two goats. Ava came to join them and suggested to look after the henhouse two gardens down, too.

"Miss Rykers."

Alvi glanced up somewhat surprised at the stocky white-haired man. "Go on." She smiled at the blond girl and her mother, her gut telling her that this might be important.

"Mr. Chandler."

"Miss, we don't know each other. The men tell me good things about you."

Alviarin tilted her head to the side a little, studying Tom's father curiously. He seemed smaller than she remembered him. She'd hardly taken notice of him on the ship. He exuded strength, determination and authority with every move. The weather-beaten face wore a stern expression, the icy blue eyes the only feature that reminded her of the Captain – Commodore, damn it. She started, aware that he might have expected her to answer something back.

The grey eyebrows rose a little, and right there, in the arrogance, she saw the first real resemblance to the man who held her heart. She took a slow breath, and focused back on his words.

"You made quite an impression on the children, back on the _Nathan James._ "

"They made an impression on me, too. I like children." It was true, even before she had realised they were Tom's.

"None of your own?"

"No."

"Mike said you went to university."

She tilted her head questioningly. Was it just a friendly chat?

"Even so." He squared his shoulders a little. "I could not help overhearing your conversation with Sam."

Alviarin frowned and waited.

"Be careful how you speak in front of the children. You should not be confusing the boy. The president is the head of state."

That made her brows rise. "He asked me a question, I gave him my opinion."

"That may well be, but you are putting thoughts of questioning the government into that boys head. He needs to have stability, rules, and one of these rules must be the man leading the country."

"Respectfully, I disagree." She tried a disarming smile.

"You are too young, and not of a navy or military background to understand my issue. I ask you -"

His patronizing tone chafed. "I've seen the new president, in private as in public moments. He was not chosen nor elected. He has not proven himself in any way. Sam was trying to put the information he had gotten into context. His question was not a superfluous one asking for a quick pat on the head."

"You think you know him?"

"No." She squared her shoulders a little. "But he returned to his original subject twice."

Jed Chandler regarded her stonily for a moment, then narrowed his eyes. "At least you called his father a hero."

"All two-hundred and something crew of the _Nathan James_ would agree." Her hands were beginning to shiver, she balled them to fists.

"Tom's a good leader, no doubt. Order above everything."

She felt her lips curl angrily. "The success of the endeavour rested in part on the fact that it's the Commodore's character to refuse to let the ship descend into chaos. I think it's pretty admirable to have him adhering to rules which would be so easy to just throw away." She could feel the heat rising into her cheeks, but did not care.

Something new entered the icy eyes. He sneered lightly, but not in an unfriendly way. "He has no trouble following Mitchener. Maybe then we'll consult _him_ on this matter."

Alviarin hated the idea of having gotten off on the wrong foot with Tom's father. When he turned to go, subject closed, she relented. "Mr. Chandler."

The grey head swivelled around on muscular neck and shoulders. She met his glance head on, shrugging expressively. "I would have given you the same answer had _you_ asked me that question. I don't want to cause grief, but I stand by my words. Especially in this situation, after Baltimore and the past weeks, following blindly leads to trouble."

The look he gave her should have made her cower. "You wouldn't fit into either navy or military, Miss. Should have known the XO likes a girl with a strong opinion. I'll see you inside."

He left the young woman staring after him with a slack jaw.

"The XO?"

Had he turned back, her expression would have alerted him to his mistake. As it was, Alviarin was not quite certain whether to laugh or to cry.

She followed him with her eyes until the blocky figure vanished around the corner, then slowly made her way toward the burly weeping willow against the far garden fence that hid a small bench under her branches. Alviarin sat on the benches backrest and leaned consciously back against the rough bark. The conversation with Jed played back in her head and she bit her lip in embarrassment – she might have handled that better. Why would the words always come so bloody complicated whenever she got nervous? This was Tom's father, she should have tried to be gracious and agreeable. But by the gods, where did he get the notion of her and Mike? She had no trouble understanding that Tom would not introduce her as his girlfriend (or _lover_ – she shivered slightly at the memory). How horrible must the situation be for him? Eyes on him constantly, the private father warring with the commander with a mission… and the two children. Sam was adorable, with the doggedly insistent questions, serious eyes and speaking hands. Ashely was more reticent, understandably so. Alvi hoped she would get more opportunity to get to know the girl. Then another voice in her head asked coolly: are you sure this is what you want? Two children you did not watch grow up? You, who has no idea how growing up actually works in this civilisation? Are you sure you're up for this?

That voice would not gain much momentum, she hoped. Of course she'd question the situation now and then, but in all, she'd try and take it as it came, Ashley and Sam included. Jed Chandler included. Tom had asked her to come along, he had faith in her.

She saw two pairs of jeans-clad legs sneaking up toward her hiding place.

"Found you!"

"Are we disturbing you?"

The warning had given her time to rub her hands over her face. "Hello you two. No, nobody's disturbing. I hope I am allowed to sit here. It's a perfect place for thinking."

"Dad said we'd find you here. They are having some dinner now – just bread and cheese and some cucumbers." Ashley threw her hair over her shoulder. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really. I get a bit sick from flying or taking a car over longer distances."

"Me too!"

"Her too!"

"You grow cucumbers?"

"Yes. They came through the fence from next door, and since Ava and Kelly are living there now we all eat them." The girl shrugged.

"We've got tomatoes and eggplant and other stuff, too." Sam interjected.

"Cool." Laughing inwardly, Alvi tilted her head. "But you guys should go eat!"

"We already did. Dad said you would help us pack."

"Right now?" That had come out of the blue.

"No, tomorrow and the day after. Sam just takes things out of context."

"Ah. I'll do my best. That's why I'm here, to make things easier for you and your dad."

Sam sat down on the bench. "Elf, what's St. Louis like?"

Alviarin slipped down from the backrest and sat at the edge, giving Ashley room should she want to sit down too. And then she settled to the task of answering questions and painting the "new capital" with words for the children.

When the three of them were interrupted, it had begun to grow dark.

"How are you guys doing?" Tom's deep voice had a peculiar quality to it.

Alviarin thanked the willow`s shadow and the darkened heaven for hiding the furious blush that seemed to rise from her toes.

Both kids jumped up to throw their arms around their father, who enveloped them warmly. "Hey monkeys."

"Dad, is it true St. Louis is going to be the new capital! And that we'll go back to school! And there are sinkholes and caves, but the caves are locked!"

"And one can touch the Arch! Did you know that St. Louis used to be central to native American culture? And it's the first city not in Europe to host Olympics?"

"Wow, wow, wow. Little people. Who have you been talking to?"

It was heart-warming how the two thrived under the tall man's warm gaze. Sam was jumping up and down, pointing a finger at the young woman. "The Elf!"

Alviarin shrugged, grinning. "Guilty as charged."

Tom knelt down so he was at eye-level with his son, Ashley towering over him by a full head. "School – absolutely, yes. The Arch – ask her, she did!, and sinkholes, yes, though I have not yet seen one."

The two children seemed to melt into his open arms again, smiling shyly.

In the darkness Alviarin could hardly make out the expression on his face, but she would guess to see that heart-breaking mixture of sadness, melancholy and hope and elation in the blue eyes. She knew her smile was a little wobbly, but again, the shadows would hide that.

"Right, enough for now – the Elf can tell you more tomorrow. It's late, bedtime for monkeys."

"Promise? Elf?"

"Absolutely." As if one could withstand the serious voice.

"But Dad, it's your first evening here. Can we not stay up a bit later?" That was Ashley, trying to be reasonable and adult.

"Sweetheart, I've got to talk some more with your granddad and Mike. He'll be leaving tomorrow."

"I know, but…" gone was the tiny adult.

"Go ahead you two, get ready for bed. I'll look in in a bit."

The two small figures scampered off.

Heart beating in her ears Alviarin had slipped off the bench, and stood, an arms-length from the man she so badly wanted to lean against.

"Alviarin."

She smiled in relief. His voice…

"Tom. They are lovely."

"You seem to be a walking encyclopaedia. You doing ok?"

"Yes." _Captain._

He held open the branches for her to pass through.

She turned back, watching the leaves fall down as his arm dropped. Feverishly aware of the house at her back.

"You'll let me know if there's anything useful I can do." The shaking of her voice was almost unnoticeable.

"Elf, you made them curious about St. Louis." His voice had that strange intensity again. He swallowed whatever he had been about to add.

She took a silent breath and grasped his hand for a short moment. "Let me know if there's anything I can do to make this easier for you."

For an equally short moment he pulled her to him a little roughly, pressed his lips against her hairline. They broke apart in unspoken consent, eyes readable to each other in the fading light.

* * *

An hour later Kelly and Ava had left for next door, and the three men and Alviarin had settled down around the living-room table with a map.

Mike had just finished explaining his route for the next days, and the times when he would try and contact Tom or Jed. The latter pulled out a stack of loose papers, when a bare-footed little person padded through the room and the plaintive voice complained: "I can't sleep. It's too exciting. And we can hear you talk!"

Tom and Jed exchanged a glance, both impatient to address the missing subjects. Mike leaned forward, about to address the little guy, when Jed met the young woman's eyes, a challenge in his cool glance, and announced: "Ask your dad if Miss Rykers here can read to you for a bit. I'm sure she'd like that."

Alviarin felt her brows rise, answering the challenge.

"Yes, please, dad, can the Elf read to me?"

Tom looked from one to the other with a frown, glance settling on the young woman with a question. Alvi shrugged and nodded and smiled, unable to completely hide the ambiguity of her feelings at this sudden suggestion.

Climbing the steps with the boy in front of her, she could hear Jed's deep voice ringing out, not much effort put into keeping the noise down. "Who is that young woman?"

 _Ah, that was the reason…_

She shrugged mentally, and settled down beside Sam's bed with a book. Ashley came over a few minutes later from her own room, climbing into her brother's bed.

When Tom Chandler checked on them some half hour later, following an undefinable noise, he found Alviarin crouching beside the bed-lamp, clever fingers bending and twisting so the shadows on the far wall were the little Viking boy and his boat and the sea-snake and other fantastic creatures the story she was reading brought up. Sam was chuckling delightedly, and it was Ashley's contagious giggle that had brought him to the door.

He watched noiselessly for a long moment, feeling something loosen inside him.

Alviarin woke even before the hard hand touched her shoulder.

"Miss Rykers."

The light was dimmed down, the book had slipped from her fingers.

The two children slept in Sam's bed. She had fallen asleep crouched against the mattress. Stretching carefully she stood and met Jed Chandler's eyes.

"Story too boring?" He whispered at her, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes hinting at a smile.

She grinned, wiping her eyes. "They liked it. Everyone's asleep?"

They both stepped outside into the corridor, and Tom's father closed the door silently after him. "Yes." At her frown he elaborated: "We agreed to keep watch tonight, see if the helicopter raised any flags. I'm gonna wake Tom now."

"No, let him sleep. I'll take the shift."

"You certain?" The 'are you up for that' hung in the dark air between them.

"Yes. The commodore had many long nights the past weeks. I'm rested."

"Right. Have a gun?"

"No, don't like them. I'll alert you or Tom or Mike if anything sounds off. Kelly?"

"Look out for them, too. Think you know your way around?"

Alviarin nodded. "Sleep well, Mr. Chandler."

The young woman stepped outside, wrapping Tom's discarded cardigan around her shoulders – for comfort and warmth. The air was clear and cold. Staying in the shadows, she noiselessly circled the houses, finding the goat and chicken-coop, meeting a hedgehog and two cats. Once accustomed to the sounds and feel of her surroundings, Alviarin settled in a spot that gave her good overview over both houses.

Reading to the two dark-eyed creatures had been harder than she had imagined, her voice had threatened to give out over a sudden lump in her throat, for no reason at all. So she had stopped, turned the lamp so it suited her purpose, and started working with her fingers, to the delight of the two. And with two children giggling, she was drawn out of the emotional sinkhole.

The solitude and the cool night air would have to do for the moment of introspection and self-centring that was sorely needed after the last days. The sun would rise in a few hours.

It was Mike who joined her just after the sun had begun to warm the air.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"A little. You're leaving?"

"Aye. Got the jeep ready. Tom knows all the details."

"Mike – I wish you…" the young woman grimaced, spreading her hands before her. "Come home safe and not alone."

The XO pressed his lips together. "I'll take it." But he did not move away. "You and the kids… that seems to work fine."

"Up to now, yes… they're easy-going, and easy to like."

"So are you, young woman. Take care of them all 'till I return."

With a semiformal nod, Alviarin replied: "Do my best, XO."

A sudden childish wail rose from the house behind them, raised voices followed. Both Mike and Alviarin turned. The young woman saw the tall man hesitate, and touched his arm. "Go, we can handle this." She grinned lightly at him. "This is your time to take and use for your family."

The blue eyes pierced hers for a long moment, then with a slight tilt of his head and a short nod, the tall first officer turned, shouldered his backpack and headed down the street.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Alviarin entered the living room to a lively, if somewhat tragic tableau of family life. Both Sam and Ashley's faces were already tear-stained. The two children stood over two shiny light green pieces of an undefinable whole, clearly the reason for the uproar.

Tom must have just entered the room before the young woman, and tried to dissolve the tension with a measured: "What's going on?"

The tall girl did not need a split second. "He broke it!" Her voice rose to dangerous levels.

"I didn't mean to! It just happened!" Sam wailed helplessly.

Jed, who had been the first on the scene, had a frown on his forehead, not dissimilar to the one his son would wear. Alviarin stored the impression to be savoured at a more convenient moment.

"Ashley, don't shout at your brother! Stop crying, both of you. So it broke! Maybe it can be fixed!"

"It was Mum's favourite, and he broke it!" Ashley turned accusatorily from her grandfather to her brother, anger and heartbreak staining her tear-streaked cheeks. "Why would you touch it! We weren't supposed to touch her things! We agreed!"

She would have reached out to shake or push her brother, but Tom intervened calmly. "Ashley, calm down. Let him speak. Sam, what happened?"

"I-, I meant to pack it into my box." Sniff. A guilty look at Jed. "I know we're not supposed to" – sniff - "to pack anything but what you told us, but" – sniff - "but I like it so. And it was Mum's favourite. She-e a-always ke-ept it in the fro-o-ont." He broke down, refusing to be comforted by his dad.

"And you broke it!" Ashley flew at him again.

"Stop it, Ashley!" That was Jed.

"It fe-ell. On the flo-o-or." The chubby face screwed up in remorse and despair and defiance. "It wasn't on purpose!" he screamed at his sister.

"But it's still broken!"

"I'm sorry!" The two small creatures seemed irreconcilably enraged with each other.

Tom and Jed exchanged a somewhat helpless glance.

Alviarin finally took a step. "Can I see?"

Tom looked up from where he had crouched down on the floor between his children. His eyes betrayed a silent plea before he calmed his features. "Let's look at the pieces. Maybe they can be glued together." He reached for the two child-fist sized lumps.

"No! It can't be fixed! Even if, you'd always see the scar! It's never gonna be fine again!" Ashley's voice was close to hysterics.

Meanwhile, the young woman had taken the stone pieces from Tom's cold hands and inspected them closely.

Jed tried to calm the sobbing Sam with a good-natured: "You're mum wouldn't hold a grudge over a trinket, boy. Accidents ha-"

"It wasn't a trinket!" Ashley interrupted rudely.

Sam, though trying to be calmer, sided with his sister. "Dad brought it from Jo-hann-is-burg. Mum loved it. She told us." Now, finally, he turned into his father's shoulder.

Into the heavy silence Alvi said quietly: "Ashley's right, it can't be fixed easily. But-"

The girl threw herself forward, knocked the pieces from the young woman's hand to the carpet and ground out with utmost disdain: "See, it's broken. For good. Throw them away already! I hate you!" the last she spit into the general direction of her brother, turned on her heel and ran up the stairs. A slamming door reverberated through the house.

The silence that followed was leaden. Alviarin bent to pick up the pieces, weighing them in her hand. Fit together, they created a crude rhinoceros.

"I'm sorry, dad!"

"Shhh, Sammy, it was an accident. Mum wouldn't be mad."

"But she'd be sad!" his lower lip quivered again.

"Maybe for a little, but not for long. She liked these animals, it's true. But she also laughed at herself and called them dust traps."

"Oh." The boy took that in. "But Ashley!"

Tom held his son to him for a long moment. "Ashley will calm down, you'll see." He exchanged a troubled glance with Alviarin. "Now, can you help grandad fix some breakfast for the Elf?"

Sam wiped his face on his sleeve and nodded, throwing the young woman a serious, shy glance. He padded out to the kitchen.

Jed turned back at the door, glancing meaningfully into the room again. "She's flown into a tantrum now and then before, but not like this."

Tom was about to shrug, frowning, clearly unwilling to enter into a discussion, when Alviarin threw in very dryly: "I think we all know that this" - she held up the stone figure – "was only the trigger. She's fighting on two fronts at the same time."

Jed regarded her with a piercing glance and nodded once.

"Nothing to be done?" Tom motioned to the two lumps in the slender fingers.

The young woman grimaced slightly, rolling her shoulders in an unconscious, eloquent motion. "I can try something. But not make it whole again. Sorry."

When she would have left the room, the tall man held her back. "What did you mean with 'two fronts'?"- he nodded at the pieces in her hands.

Wary reticence in her stance, Alviarin replied: "The rhino can't be fixed same as the family can't be – Darien's gone. But also, she's fighting with herself – not quite child any more, not yet adult. You're home, that will bring some issues to the front."

Tom frowned at the innocent lumps and watched the slender fingers close over them.

* * *

"Sam, what did you put out for packing?" Alviarin enquired, trying to lighten the still weighed down atmosphere. The boy ticked off the list on his fingers, thinking seriously.

"Clothes, shoes, my books, a few toys. We can't take much. How many boxes do we have, dad?"

"About one per person. There isn't much space on the copter."

"What about furniture?"

"No, Sam, that we'll find in St. Louis. But the favourite pictures, a few toys,…"

"Ashley's carpet!"

The young woman could not help a chuckle. "Ashley has her own carpet?"

"Yes, it was Mum's when she was a girl, and when grandma passed away, Ashley got it for her room. I've got a blanket that grandma made for me. Can I take that, please, dad?"

"Sure, Sam. Though we'll have to sort through the stuffed animals, all right?"

Jed Chandler chimed in from where he stood over the counter. "You're a big boy now…"

"What about Tom and Jerry, and all the chickens?"

Here, Alvi could help. "I've seen chicken in St. Louis. We'll leave the flock here, Ava and Kelly can take care of them for the time being. And the goats…" she shrugged. "Think they'd feel comfortable on the helo?"

"No, probably not." The boy considered her words seriously.

"We'll have a garden, though." Tom interjected. "One box is reserved for whatever seed and plants and saplings we want to try and uproot."

"What about Ava, dad?" Sam was returning to the earlier subject. "Aren't they coming?"

"Kelly want's to wait a bit, she's hoping to hear from her family in Great Britain. There have been a few sporadic messages." Jed supplied evenly. His glance at the two adults conveyed not much hope.

* * *

Sometime during the afternoon, Alviarin passed by Ashley's room. The girl stood in the middle of an orderly mess of books, toys, dolls, and stuffed animals, her posture so slumped that the young woman could not pass without a gentle knock.

"Ashley."

"Oh, hey."

"You doing ok?"

The girl sank down on a narrow empty corner of her bed, lifting her arms in surrender. "I don't know how to do this."

"Is it ok if I come in?"

The question went unnoticed. "I don't know if I will read any of these again, and the dolls, but I don't want to leave them, but if I'll never play with them again, I shouldn't take them…"

"It sounds a bit like your brain is running circles in that head of yours."

The dry words elicited a slight snort, and the girl finally looked up at the young woman.

"Your hands are dirty."

"I was working outside in the garden."

"You'll need to wash your hands first."

Smiling inwardly over the tacit assumption of offered help Alvi nodded. "I'll do that."

Together, they sorted through the toys, animals, school items, sacred and secret girl's trinkets, stones and even a few baby clothes the almost-teenager treasured. What seemed to help the most was Alviarin's assurance that nothing left behind would be destroyed. "You're not throwing things away. You're just leaving them behind. Take with you what will help make you feel comfortable, at ease."

"But the books…"

Alviarin suppressed a shudder. "We'll find books in St. Louis. Children live there, too, you know." _And those that didn't any more left their things behind to be found._

"I'll never play with dolls again."

"That doesn't mean you have to completely leave them. Take your oldest, most favourite one, it can sit on your shelf. Same goes for the pictures. Take those that carry the most memories."

In the end, the box was full.

Glancing around the room, Ashley smiled a little, picking up a figurine of a young woman. "Look, that's the one I wanted to show you. That's who you reminded me of, on the ship, that morning. That's why Sammy called you Elf."

Alviarin gently took the little doll, smiling back at the girl.

"It's not a perfect likeness, but she's got the long braid and light eyes."

"I'm not offended," Alviarin reassured the waif, "She's beautiful."

"Oh, but…" Ashley's face fell hopelessly. The small collection of favourite porcelain dolls was left behind. "Maybe Sam's box isn't all full yet!" She hesitated, threw the young woman a slanted glance. "Think he's still mad at me?"

Alviarin sneered good-naturedly, challenging the girl with a direct glance.

"I know," she acceded grumpily. "I was mad, he wasn't. But oh… that rhino…"

Feeling her smile turn warm, Alviarin stood. "I just remembered something. I'll be back in a moment." She left the girl to her thoughts.

When she returned, she found the two children standing over Sam's box in unquestioned harmony. Sam seemed to have the same problem as his sister.

"Grandad helped me," he confided, "but I really, really need to take the Ninjas and Mr. Nai-Nai can't go in the box." He gently stroked a large, stuffed white tiger over the somewhat dirty head.

Ashley smiled a little, noticing Alviarin's surprised glance. "When we first moved into this house, we had to wait for the boxes with our toys. Sam was only two then. So Mum brought the tiger from the local toy-store, and left it lying on the couch-table in a brown paper bag. Sam would say 'nai-nai' for the sound a cat does, and when he came into the room and found the tiger peeking out of the bag, his whole face lit up and he cried "Nai-nai!". He" - she motioned at the much-handled animal – "has been Mr. Nai-Nai ever since. Sam, there's no other way, we gotta leave something else behind. Come-"

"Wait, guys. I forgot: I brought you something." A little apprehensive the young woman offered the two children the backpacks she had carried.

The suddenly increased personal space brought her more thanks than the clothes she had hidden inside. The young woman took it in stride, she had noticed the secret delight in the girl's face at the dress she had pulled out of her pack.

"Dad!" Sam noticed the silent watcher in the doorframe. "Look. Mr. Nai-Nai can sleep in it!"

Tom frowned severely: "I would have thought a young man would realise the bigger gift here is a pair of clean pants." He had knelt down and at the last words pulled the boy into his arms, tickling him gently. Sam jubilantly fought off his father's playful attack.

Tom met the tall girl's eyes over the dark head. "All good, Ashley?"

"Yeah, dad." She took a step toward then and at Tom's offered hand leaned into him, too. "Sorry about this morning."

He kissed the side of her head, murmuring into her ear.

Alviarin felt like an intruder, watching the intimate moment, and stood silently to slip out. But Tom reached for her hand, pulling her to a stop. "Elf."

The children disentangled themselves a little, so Tom could stand up. "I have to head down toward the harbour, to meet Ben, see how the collecting of the medical supplies is going."

The young woman nodded seriously. Ben, their pilot, was trying to round up former crew of the _Nathan James_ and looking to assemble the list of lab-equipment the small party was to bring back to St. Louis.

"Why don't you two monkeys take Alvi around the neighbourhood?"

"Say goodbye, you mean?" Ashley made her father grimace slightly.

"That, though we've got tomorrow, too. But I thought a bit of fresh air and sunshine would do all of you good." His eyes held Alviarin's, his warm hand pressed her cool fingers for a moment. "You do look a bit see-through."

* * *

"Heard from Mike?" Alvi entered the kitchen where Tom was looking out the window into the slowly deepening darkness.

The tall man started slightly and turned around, leaning back against the sink. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Yeah, he traced them beyond the camp he found abandoned last time. He has two possible destinations. The connection was bad. I'm beginning to feel suspicious about this…" His frown deepened, the blue eyes far away.

"Did you speak to Ben – everything ok on that front?"

Tom had been home even before she had returned with the three children – they had included Ava on their short walk.

"He's had quite a bit of resistance, cleaning out the left-over lab here, even with the written order from Mitchener. But we've got the most important things packed. He'll ferry them over to the helo tomorrow, with help from some of the more organised people. Seems the navy seals we met with during our first stop here are spread thin."

The tone of his voice betrayed something he wasn't saying. "What else?"

"He said things were a bit chaotic around the military sites… raids and such have been a common issue. People ask after what happened in New Orleans, but don't want to trust the videos we've been sending. Saying they're coerced. The bad connection internet and phone wise adds to that." He refused to say more.

"Tom, maybe we could stay a bit longer, you and Mike go and let yourselves be seen and talk to the people. Enough of the old crew of the Nathan James are still around to recognize you and support you…"

"I'm considering this. But if there are organisations moving in the background, this might endanger the children and dad. I'd rather have them safe down in St. Louis and come back up here with more backup."

"Organisations? You think?" Now the young woman frowned. This was the first she was hearing about that, apart from the rumours Valerie had supplied them with.

Tom shrugged consciously, changing the subject. The ghost of a smile flitted over his features. "Dad said you stood up to him quite impressively on the subject of Mitchener."

Alviarin blushed. "Yeah, well, keeping my opinion to myself is not my strongest point. You know my feelings concerning the president."

One grey-blond eyebrow rose. "Aye, that I do. What I don't quite get is how on the _James_ you were such a shy creature, barely uttering a word to anyone. How long did it take me to get you to loose the 'Sir'? Though with him, who's been called one of the strictest officers? And believe me, I know those looks he can throw at you, yet you don't back down for nothing?" The laughter in his voice was recognizable, but the curiosity and challenge were stronger.

The young woman turned to the side. "Ah, but it wasn't as bad as all that. Neither occasion. And the situations were much different."

"Really? Please elaborate." He reached out a hand when she would have evaded the question by carrying load of dishes to the living-room. His glance gave no quarter.

"Tom, I came onto the _Nathan James_ expecting the _Serenity_." Suddenly she had to fight to keep her voice as dry and slightly sarcastic as his had been. "You were the captain, the undisputed head of the ship, an authority. Had just made quick finish with the Baltimore mess. And I guess you know you cut quite an impressive figure. Your men look up to you; Andy had a slight case of hero-worshipping. The first few interactions you and I had… The way Rachel talked about you when she was angry… The crew is a tight knit entity with you its centre, and I was an alien."

"Yeah." Tom conceded, taking her hand warmly in his. "We didn't have the best start, best few starts. But with dad you didn't even hesitate."

"Oh, but we met on equal grounds, Tom! He's a civilian, I'm a civilian. He's carried his grandchildren through hell and back. I've seen my share of horrors. He has faith in the government and the constitution, I don't." She took a breath, not willing to go further.

"Interesting." The rough voice from the doorframe startled the young woman badly. She pulled her fingers automatically from the warm, comforting grip.

Jed stood there, sharp eyes hooded and grave.

"Please elaborate, Miss Rykers."

Tom's face twitched ever so slightly, but Alviarin was unaware of the humour in the older man's words. "Mr. Chandler, I'm not certain this is the right moment…"

"Elf, give him your point of view." Tom interjected gently. He felt the loss of the slender fingers acutely, but understood her reticence.

The young woman took a step to glance out the window, breath coming faster.

"I saw Mitchener come onto the ship, I watched you – I mean Tom, after you broke him to build him back up again. I saw what it took from you. I saw the crew's reaction, the hope and trust offered to him, the disappointment. I can't read Mike as easily, but he looked drawn, too. How long Mitchener hesitated, how easily he then slipped into the role that he was needed for. No, I will not call him a hero, not for anybody!" her voice had gained intensity, though not volume.

A pause formed, the young woman meeting two pairs of blue Chandler eyes with all the self-containment she could muster.

Finally Jed Chandler tilted his head slightly: "I won't ask you to. Let's eat."

* * *

Talk at the dinner table was lively, with Kelly and the children discussing how to best keep in touch. Jed would stay behind to take care of them for the time being, and later planned to follow his family down to St. Louis.

"So tomorrow, some time in the afternoon Ben will come with the Jeep to pick up the boxes, then we'll go to the helo, with Dad and Alvi and Uncle Mike." Sam was very serious. "Dad, can we go back to the park one last time tomorrow?"

"If Granddad or Alvi take you, sure. I might have to go down to the harbour again."

Both children pulled a face, but acquiesced quickly. "We'll have you in the evening. Do we sleep on the helicopiter?"

"Helicopter!" the girls corrected the dark-haired boy automatically. "Dad, will you fly the helo?"

"No, Ashley, I'll be a passenger like you guys."

"But you can fly it!"

"Yes, I can."

"Granddad can, too!" Sam told Ava seriously.

"Cool," the shy, blond girl noted.

* * *

The house was quiet, the children asleep. Alviarin could not settle down, knowing that Tom was circling the neighbourhood keeping watch. Finally she grabbed a blanket and silently slipped out the door.

She found the tall form in the corner of the garden overlooking both street and neighbouring court. Alviarin reached out a hand to touch the broad back. She needed to touch him, for herself much more than for anything else, remind herself that this was real.

"Tom."

The admiral startled badly, almost violently, and the young woman stepped back.

"I didn't mean to startle you." Alviarin whispered.

"Didn't hear you." He grimaced. "Hope none of the players here move like you do."

"I could take your place. You're tired."

"No, not for an hour or so. You could stay and talk to me. Kids quiet?"

"Aye. I read to them – startled your father asking for Longfellow."

"Really? I know we have a first edition somewhere." His voice betrayed only marginal interest. "Interesting choice."

The young woman chuckled silently. "That's what he said. Hiawatha always calms me… and it worked. They slept, despite the excitement."

For a while it was quiet, only insects moving around. Then Alviarin took a breath. "Tom, when do you expect Mike?"

"Haven't heard from him since that first time. The disruptions of the network are getting worse."

"The internet does need a lot of electricity, and that has been on and off… Did Ben observe anything helpful?"

"He said he might have been followed driving the equipment up to the helo. He packed them into a building nearby, not wanting to advertise his connection to the copter."

The young woman shrugged. "Smart move. But he hasn't been directly approached?"

"No."

Slightly exasperated, Alviarin shook her head. "You really don't want to talk about any of this."

That earned her an amused snort, but no objection. Almost she offered to leave him to his thoughts, then remembered that he had asked her to stay. So she leaned against the trunk, an arms length from him.

"Am I doing the right thing?" The deep voice was almost toneless.

Heart going out to him, she asked slowly: "By whom?"

"Taking them away from everything they know, love, from the memories. Everything here is… Darien. On the other hand, down in St. Louis they get a fresh start. I've got a duty. But-"

This was the side of him she loved most seeing, since she got the opportunity so seldom.

"They're happy to be with you, Tom. That's the most important thing. They love their granddad, they'd be safe with him, but nobody can replace you. Especially since their mother is gone…"

"They'll be completely uprooted. Here they can feel closer to her… If I could believe in ghosts…"

For a long while the young woman stayed silent, warring with herself. Then she whispered, hands hugging her shoulders: "Tom, let me believe for you. Darien's spirit is not anchored to this place."

"I thought you were a 'reason and science' kinda gal." The sarcasm was half-hearted.

Alviarin shrugged, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. He had not taken her words wrong. "Reason, science and spiritualism don't always clash. I'm first nation raised."

Sinking down onto the garden bench, Tom let his head sink into his hands.

"I didn't think it would be this hard, to return to a house that isn't home any more. To face the children, their pain and grief, their laughter…"

As if a door had been opened, the words flooded out. "It kills me that I wasn't there, that they had to see their mother die, that I could not say goodbye to her, to thank her for being brave and strong for them. The things they had to see… I can't even get them to talk to me about it. All those deaths under my watch, all those lives lost…"

"It wasn't your fault." Alviarin doled the words out very carefully, like measuring something dangerous. "It wasn't, you know. None of it. You and Rachel and Mike made the very best from the circumstances."

He was silent, unmoving, and she could almost hear his thoughts. He was lost in the weeks before and after his wife's death.

"Tom, you were fast enough for your children. Had you been given the choice, your children or you, what would it have been? What would it be now?"

The tension in the broad shoulders seemed to lessen a tiny bit. For a long while it was silent.

"I never needed anyone to talk to!" There was an accusation in the quiet, intense words.

Alviarin could almost smile then. But his next words clamped around her heart.

"It's like I'm bad news to the women in my life. Darien. Ashley. Rachel…"

She reached out then, shyly, threading her fingers into his hair, stepping a little closer.

"And you'll take Andrea's and Alicia's and Kara's fate onto your own, too. Stop, Tom, this is not like you. You're loosing perspective. Had you not seen the sense in Rachel's mission, if not for you to follow, none of us would be here, alive or healthy right now. Your children will get through this. They've got you. Rachel is on the mend. The world is recovering."

As if the gentle touch of her fingers on the nape of his neck – warm against his cold skin – had opened something, Tom Chandler released a long, harsh breath. His shoulders began to shake under the narrow, long-fingered hands, and he blindly, questioningly reached for the slender creature, burying his face in her middle.

Alviarin stood looking down at the silvery head, she would not have moved for the world. The grip of the strong hands grew almost painful, while his shoulders shook under her fingers. No words could help now. A strange, detached feeling of relaxation flooded her, acutely reminding her of one moment on deck of the Nathan James, when the roles had been reversed – this was his moment to regroup.

What seemed like an eternity later, Tom, calm now, lifted his head, stood slowly and gazed down into her upturned face. It was dark, but the ambient light was enough to make out the clear features. His hands ran up her arms and came to rest on the narrow shoulders, strong and fragile. "Say, can you cook, too?"

His measured words dissolved any residual melancholy. Alviarin grinned helplessly and shrugged, breathless from surprise. "Wait and see."

The tall man leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead, gently first, but with rising intensity. "You asked me once if I was bothered by your age."

"You changed your mind?"

"I'm going to be egotistical here. Your irrepressible optimism, that wise naiveté that swipes at obstacles, tackles them from the least expected angle are exactly what keeps me upright."

Alviarin considered the shadowy face above her for a long moment, then reached up to cup his cheeks and gently pull him down so she could touch her lips to his, hoping he would not notice her shiver. She missed touching him so badly. Settling back on her heels she squared her shoulders minutely.

"Tom, why did you go navy? Your dad…"

Chandler frowned a little, taken aback by the sudden change of subject.

"I joined the Navy to piss off dad." That elicited a delightful snort from the young woman. She gazed up at him expectantly: he had to go on. "I stayed." He shrugged.

"You fell in love with the sea." She had tilted her head. "'She's a harsh master, but she can be beautiful, too.'"

"Stop quoting myself back to me, woman." He remembered the moment they had met for the first time quite well.

"Tom Chandler, you're the strongest person I know. Every decision you felled was made with foresight, purport and always, always thought of your family, your crew, extended to the surviving population of the world. Isn't that exactly what life is about? Make sure you don't carry regret? Pain, grief, yes, but never regret. Never let guilt be your reason!"

Tom's breath caught. Their relationship, if one could call it that, was still new and fresh enough for moments like this to catch him unawares. Still, something in him rebelled against this slip of a girl reaching down into his very soul. "So what does this have to do with me choosing the navy?"

Alvirain took her time answering. Her voice had a melodic, dreamlike quality when she finally revealed: "You chose the sea. She grounds you, gives you equilibrium while challenging you. She's beautiful while horrific, imperturbable while indomitable… unyielding."

And again, he almost wished he had not made her speak. "Sounds like you got caught yourself."

No answer came. The young woman leaned her head against his chest and his arms came up around her of their own accord.

He needed to think about this Elf. "Thanks for making an effort with Ashley and Sam."

"Oh, no. There isn't much effort needed. I love to make them smile."

* * *

Alviarin returned with Ashley and Sam from their 'last foray into Norfolk' to a maelstrom of things happening all at once. Mike had returned, a blond girl and a little boy maybe two years younger than Sam in tow. The tall XO had a painful streak pulling at the corners of his mouth, would suddenly turn thoughtful while watching the children with glowing eyes. He was clearly torn between happiness to have one of his daughters returned to him, but devastation at the finalized loss of wife and two older children. But there was no time for stories – yet, Alvi promised herself.

With the jeep returned, Tom had Alviarin and Jed ferry the boxes to the helicopter with the pick-up and load it. Ben had returned downtown with the smaller car boxing the last of the medical supplies.

"Mr. Chandler, how much of Mike Slattery's story did you hear?"

"Enough to know that things weren't easy backcountry, either. His wife and then the older girl got sick, and Christine sent the youngest and the cousin – the boy, Zach, is Mike's nephew – to go on with a friend. That friend took care of them within the camp."

"What's her name? And how old is she?"

"Mhari is roughly Ashley's age, they even know each other somewhat. She was about to enter high school…"

"So are they immune?"

"No way to tell without testing them. The way that camp was set up, at the first sign of sickness the afflicted were left behind with rations."

"But then…"

"No, Miss, don't go there. There isn't any chance they survived. Timeframe… Let's be thankful Mike has that part of his family back. He's luckier than some."

"Aye." The young woman's sigh was toneless. Of course Tom's father was right, but the sheer amount of losses threatened to overwhelm her. From the short glimpse she had gotten the blond girl was tall for her age, had Mike's chin and nose, adorably so, and the serious, somewhat downcast set to her mouth that pulled at Alviarin's innards. Another one who had almost forgotten how to smile. She remembered how that felt…

When Alviarin and Jed returned from the last trip, the atmosphere had changed. Tom was tense, the children quiet. Ben stood talking animatedly to the commodore and his first officer, anger and unease if not in their features, their body language spoke volumes.

"We've got a situation."

Ben had been accosted by a group of mercenaries, hindering him effectively from taking the last boxes anywhere. He had only gotten away by leaving everything behind and taking a roundabout way back to the house – on foot. They'd lost the jeep. He feared that not only might the helicopter be in danger, but the already packed equipment was jeopardized.

Tom hesitated for a long moment, his eyes cloudy.

"Tom, we can't give in that easily. A bit of PR is sorely needed here. Where are our navy seals? I don't get it!" Mike grumbled quietly.

Jed had grown increasingly angry at the pilot's tale. "I agree, Tom. Let's all go down. My face is known, I've got a couple of old comrades I can pull in, a few of your former crew are still around, so are those that you guys inoculated during your first visit."

"We know about the unrest. I fear reacting too harshly might cause a serious riot. There's too many parties clashing down there." That was Ben, his words earnest.

Tom gave in finally. "All right. Mercenaries…damn it. We're going downtown to get the car. Dad, we might need you, too. Alviarin, Mike, a word."

The admiral pulled the young woman to the side, Mike followed.

"Alviarin, I want you to take the children to the Helicopter. On foot, keep them out of sight."

"On foot? Tom, her alone with all four of them?"

"Yes. Dad and I will speak to the locals, I need you as backup in the shadows, and Alvi will take the kids, in case somebody thinks to come to the house to see if they can find leverage. Kelly and Ava will be safe. They went a few blocks down to stay with a young couple."

"You made them leave already?" Alviarin could not quite follow. "What am I missing?"

"I told Kelly to go for a few days as soon as Ben turned up telling me he was followed. He had Mitchener's writ the whole time. If suspicion against the navy is still that common, we have to be twice as careful. Dad can get them to come home once we have left."

"But then why the helicopter? We could go to Kelly's too?"

"No, whatever the outcome of tonight, we have to get the equipment down to . And the children with it. Remember the main mission, Alvi. The virus is still at large in significant parts of the country. No one should have to endure what Christine…"

Tom trailed off at Mike's pained grimace. The young woman pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

"All right, so I take the children to the soccer field, hide there until you guys show up, and we fly out as soon as all are on board. How certain are you the helo is still safe?"

"Ben was adamant it had not been found. That part of town is empty."

"Alviarin, are you certain you can manage that? Four children, two of them you don't know?"

"Fairly certain, Mike. I can get Ashley and Sam to help with Mhari and Zach, they know them better than they know me."

"Take my gun." Tom tried to press his revolver into the young woman's hand. Alviarin declined.

"No, Tom, I'm not comfortable with them, especially with the children around. I've got my knife and staff. We don't expect trouble, and I'm better with the silent hand-to-hand anyway."

Both men looked down at her for a long moment, clearly torn.

"Maybe we can leave Ben with her?"

"No, Tom, we need him to confront the people who held him up."

The XO turned away, grinding his teeth together. Tom regarded his friend silently, mouth set in a hard line.

Shyly Alviarin offered: "I could trade places with Mike."

"No, kid. It's a fair plan. It just pains me to leave them alone again so quickly." The XO turned, biting down on the words.

"Alviarin will take good care of them."

There was enough of a question in his words that the young woman felt a pang. "This I swear."

Two pairs of hard blue eyes stared down at her for a long moment, then the two men turned away.

Alviarin took a deep breath, running a hand over her face. There was not enough time to ask after the 'parties' involved in the growing unrest in Norfolk, but she remembered Valerie's words well enough. Canadians taking an interest in the military base, mercenaries from the Midwestern countries arriving for the same reason, local and self-appointed law enforcement trying to keep things clearly arranged, and the town safe. She could understand people questioning the erratic messages that had come from the new president and the navy team, she didn't know who's side she'd be on if she came newly to the situation. But the former crew must have spread the word at the earliest, and now surely news of the contagious cure had reached up here, too. Still, if there were people actively working against the good news, for what ever reason, that would cause problems.

She checked and rechecked her small backpack: torches, knife, tools, staff, water, some rations, a length of rope, first aid kit, the small binocular... then she summoned a smile and looked over at where Tom and Mike were talking earnestly to the four children. If she managed to keep their spirits up, maybe make this trip a bit of a game… Bring out the old animal voices…

* * *

The young woman kept her mind firmly on the task of projecting optimism, good humour and energy. Zach as the youngest was sitting on her back, strapped in place by the backpack, enjoying the ride. The other three had been easy to manage and followed her words and instructions without hesitation. While the sun was still above the horizon, the children had taken the trip as an adventure. Mhari and Ashley were slowly getting to know each other again, exchanging careful questions. Sam stayed mostly at Alviarin's side, chatting with her or Zach. The young woman saw no sign of living civilisation in these outskirts they were passing through, overgrown gardens and silent, lifeless houses.

Now, the dark was deepening by the time they were nearing their goal. Alviarin had taken her time for the trip, knowing that they would have most probably hours to wait for the men, and not wanting to hurry the children. The easy conversations had ceased, but the mood was relaxed.

It was one of the local high schools, Ashley contributed, a technical school of impressive size. An incomprehensible amount of low outer buildings stretched over a generous campus that ended in a large sports facility containing tartan fields and a cinder track, and behind low tribunes the Soccer field. It had not seemed that big when they arrived.

If she had timed it right, and if Tom and Mike had not run into serious trouble, they should not be alone for much longer.

But just as she finished the thought, a noise came to her ears, sending a shiver down her spine. A car, but not the missing jeep nor the pickup. She had made the children promise her to hide if told to, so now she only had to give them a sign and they all stopped in the darkness of a large doorframe. A light coloured military truck passed a distance from them, two figures in front barely discernible.

Once the noise was gone, the young woman ushered the children along. She had already made up her mind to try and hide in one of the buildings in sight of the helo, or at least in sight of the tribunes, and not wait under the open sky for whatever came.

Three steps out of their hiding place, earth and heaven shook. An enormous explosion made them cringe and cover their ears, eyes wide in shock. The young woman managed to push all three children back under the rafters, expecting either falling glass or bricks. Nothing further happened, but a billowing cloud of black smoke arose a few houses down from where she could see. The little boy on her back began to cry.

"Zach, shh." Alviarin gently unfastened the straps so she could set the boy on the floor and take him into her arms, trying to convey reassuring pats and gentle touches to the other three, too. "Is anyone hurt?"

"My ears hurt!"

"Mine, too, sweetheart. That was a loud noise."

"Was that an explosion?"

"Yes, I think so." Her mind was racing even faster than her heart. Had Tom been anywhere near that building? Had the men been close already? Did the car they had seen have anything to do with this? Should she go on and hide or turn back, check on the helicopter?

"What could have caused it?" That was Ashley. Now only Mhari was left.

"Mhari, are you all right?"

"Yes, just frightened."

Brave girl. "Yeah, that startled me too." Alviarin came to a decision. "Listen up guys. I'll run to the end of this building, and look around the corner, to see the site of the explosion. Then I can decide where we will go next."

"Noo!" that was the little one.

"Zach, listen. You'll be able to see me the whole time. Watch and tell me if I manage to stay under the rafters for the whole trip, or if I would get wet if it rained. I need to leave my staff here, and you'll hold it for me, right?" She held out the backpack to the two girls with a serious wink, imploring them to understand and play along. Both reached for it without hesitation, and Sam grandly reached for Zach's hand.

"Here, I'll help you. That staff is heavy."

That settled for the moment, the young woman hastily sprinted the length of the building. Carefully stretching her head around the corner, she observed the site of the explosion. It was a few buildings down from theirs, opposite the main entrance to the tribunes. The building was burning slowly, the street was covered in glass and mortar. Now and then the colourful bursts of fireworks would lighten the air full of dust and fumes. No people were to be seen. Ok, so they would find one of the other entrances. The explosion would attract interest. The helo stood on that field…

If they circled around this building, and gained entrance to another one down the street with windows a little higher up, she would be able to survey the surroundings, maybe see Tom and Mike coming. The smell of smoke in the cool evening air would scare the children further, and to be inside, sit down… might help calm them. There was no immediate danger of a spreading fire. Mind made up, Alviarin returned to her charges, shouldered the backpack and explained shortly what their plan was. Holding hands tightly, the little group soldiered on, in the opposite direction.

Turning another corner, Alviarin thought she heard a car again, even saw a shadow move, but as it didn't return it might have been a figment of her imagination. The young woman shook her head. Out in the woods she trusted herself, but here, in lifeless civilisation, with four scared children to take care of, she saw or heard ghosts? Finally they reached the building she had been heading towards, a sports hall with windows high enough to overlook the next few houses. Breaking the lock with the awl and a piece of stiff wire took her a seemingly unending amount of time, with the children watching impatiently, but with fascination.

"Cool," Sam commented dryly when she had finally managed to open the door.

Scooping Zach up in her arms, she ushered the children inside and let the door fall closed behind them. Looking around she immediately spotted her lookout position. The building was essentially one big room, with a kind of balcony running around parts of the walls, probably for watchers during sports events. This balcony had the windows she had been aiming for.

"Up there, guys, we can see where your dads are coming."

It was the only thing that made sense. Tom and Mike would have noticed the explosion, and come check it out. They'd hopefully assume she would find another entrance to the helicopter-field, and from this vantage point, she could overlook the wide paths leading up to the two closest openings in the tribunes. It was wait and hope from now on. She settled the children down with her water bottle and the rations of army bread she had carried, and opened a window slightly so they would hear anything going on outside.

Alviarin was standing at the window looking in the direction of the explosion when a thought hit her. Had not that been the building where Ben had stashed the medical equipment? Had it been blown up on purpose by somebody? She could not be one hundred per cent certain, Jed had only mentioned it in passing, and her thoughts had been with Mike. There had been a few boxes stashed under the tribunes which they had already loaded onto the helo…

She refused to give in to worries that Tom and Mike might have been inside, or dangerously close… She and Jed had not been observed, of that she was fairly certain. She still had that wolf's awareness that told her if she was watched. Wait, had there been movement? But a distraction came from the other side.

"I see someone coming! Look!" Ashley and Mhari had been watching the other direction, and as Alvi now joined them she too could make out two dark figures flitting carefully from shadow to shadow – no, three. She waited until a tell-tale motion made her heartbeat speed up and the icicles run down her back. "It's them. That are Tom and Mike and Ben. But shhhh – stay silent. Let them come closer…"

She froze. They had been whispering. A different sound had reached her ear.

In a heartbeat she was back at the other window, and to her horror realised that the movement she had been distracted from were two men in full uniforms and long-range weaponry, coming in the direction of the building at a leisurely, if wary pace. They were checking out the surroundings alertly, trying the doors they passed. She could even make out words… one of them had an exceptionally deep, rumbling voice, and the accent… Canadians!

Her mind kicked into hyperdrive. Why had Tom not told her more about the warring factions, why had not Jed? Now she did not know if she faced friend or enemy down there, and four children at her back. Tom and Mike were coming too slowly, and if there were two Canadians, there could be more. If she managed to draw these two away, at least the two officers would find the children and could possibly manage to get to the helo.

Only a heartbeat had passed. The voices outside the window spoke and fell silent, spoke again. In the distance, coming from the opposite direction along the tribunes, another two figures in the same lighter uniforms as the deep-voiced man and his comrade approached. So. Canadians circling the helicopter. If Tom and Mike stayed on the trajectory they were on they might enter the building undetected, if the four Northerners were pulled away. And since the three men were walking fairly openly, the Canadian vehicles were probably parked to the other side of the blown up building somewhere.

Aware that two small hands had stolen into hers, the young woman pulled Sam and Zach back toward where the girls were standing, torn between watching their dad's approach and Alviarin's erratic movements. She knelt down to rummage through her backpack. Handing out the electrical torches and the rest of the food and water, she whispered instructions. The children, with the three men visibly coming closer, blissfully ignored the danger approaching from the other side and nodded and smiled and promised.

Every step her mind was warring with itself. She could hide behind the door and try to take them when they came in. If they came in. But they had shooting weapons, they were expecting trouble, would be doubly careful, maybe notice the broken lock, and the children… She could stay and hope and deal with the situation as it came… but if Tom and Mike turned away, or entered the building and a shoot-out resulted… if the children were taken hostage…

Plan for every possibility… but in this case animal instincts took over. Protect the young at all cost. She closed the heavy door silently behind her.

* * *

The Admiral and his XO were about to take a corner, having agreed to check on the helicopter first, when something distracted them. Four small grinning faces appeared more or less straight above them, in the building they would have used as cover. Relief flooded both men, Tom motioned to Ben who was tailing them at a little distance. They found the door, found it open, and within seconds the two families were united.

Tom noticed that his friend had to wipe his face on his sleeve, and understood the motion profoundly. The explosion had thrown them into a maelstrom of utter horror at the visions presenting themselves, of worries and haste. Both fathers gathered their children close for a long moment.

Then Ben interrupted the silence, opening the door and whispering: "Sir, we've got to move. There's people around. I heard a car."

Cold ran down Chandler's back. "Where's Alviarin? Ashley, where is she?"

"She left, a little while ago."

"She left you alone?" the two tall officer's eyes met. Jaws clenching, each could read the same fury rising in the other's face.

"Sir! We've got to go! There's movement on the lawn. The helo is compromised!"

"Back to the cars. Girls, Sammy, can you run?"

Ashley and Mhari took hold of each other's hand and nodded. Mike lifted Zach, Tom reached for Sam, who was still carrying the long dark-wood stave.

"No, Sam, leave everything."

"But Dad…"

"Grandad's waiting a few blocks from here with the pickup. We have to be quick and silent now. Come!"

* * *

For two terms after Uncle Michael had left Calgary Alviarin had shared a room with a girl. Caroline was the most beautiful blond angel she had ever seen – before or after – and could make almost any man do her wish without even realising that it had not been his idea in the first place. She used this ability shamelessly, but never with evil intent and hardly negative outcomes. Alviarin had watched her in fascination, the transformation from self-assured student to helpless college girl, from shameless flirt to good-natured pixie.

It was the memory of Caroline – _what might have become of her?_ – that came to Alviarin's mind now. Channelling the blonde, calling on whatever acting abilities she might have - _the singing lessons_ \- she stumbled around the corner of the building.

* * *

« Je ne crois pas qu'elle nous comprends. On la croix? »

«Tu a dit ce-que tu l'as vu dans la rue. »

«Oui, c'est possible. On la prit au Prof? Elle est seule, certainement. Mais l'histoire elle raconte, c'est plausible, no?"

"Oui, je le pense aussi. Pourquoi est-ce que tu veut elle parle avec le Prof?"

"Peut-être il sait si cet camp existe toujours. Elle a fait référence á Calgary. Le Prof va savoir si elle dit la vérité."

"D'accord, Marton. On la pris."

Alviarin hid her relief. They would take her to this mysterious Professor without her having to expose her knowledge of French. The blond guy, Marton, was the one whose voice had alerted her at first. She had managed to steer all four of them away from the high building where the children were hidden, and Gods give that Tom and Mike and Ben would find them without exposing themselves to these people.

They were not mercenaries, that much was clear, but their leader could be a crazy conspiracy theorist like Ramsay or somebody who took the lead because someone had to. Either way, "Professor" had her carefully hopeful.

"We will take you to ze Professor, but only in ze morning. Can you rest 'ere?"

The young woman hid her disappointment. Loose another half day? It could not be helped. She nodded at the two men, still channelling wide-eyed innocence and fright. She wondered how long she could keep up this charade believably.


	34. Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

For the second time in three days time Alviarin neared a house in the late afternoon with the blood rushing through her veins, thundering in her ears, her knees and fingers threatening to shake. She found solace in the silky coat of the half-grown animal under her left hand. Marton solicitously walked by her side. He had quickly updated her on where they stood – the Professor had met the Admiral, forces had been joined, an allegiance formed – made all the sweeter and stronger for its honesty and voluntariness. The Canadians had hardly noticed the children – which meant they were safe with Tom and Mike. Less of the equipment had been lost to the explosion than the navy team had feared. And that had been mostly replaced by the Canadians. The helo was untouched, still waiting on that field.

Heart in her mouth, Alviarin hesitated before stepping inside, leaving Marton to lead the pup around the house with wide strides. She finally closed the door behind her.

Tom stood in front of her when she turned around. Her senses flooded with his presence. But the smile on her lips froze at his expression, the relief changing into a feeling of utter displacement. His face was the distant mask he wore on the ship, his eyes were glacial.

"Tom."

"You left them alone. You promised me you'd look after them."

Cold horror ran down her back. Unable to catch a breath for feeling like she had been punched in the stomach she missed the moment he had given her to answer.

"I trusted you with my children, with Mike's children. You left them alone in that building." His voice was devoid of emotion – so much so, he frightened her. At the same time, reluctance kicked in.

"Let me explain…" she hated the waver in her voice, the toneless quality. Had she not been over the way he intimidated her? She really had acted with the four kids' best interest in mind. "The choice I had-"

Tom lifted a hand. "Even if you contacted the right people, four children entrusted to your care were your first import."

 _They were, they were!_ Alviarin stayed silent. The absoluteness of his movement spoke volumes: No word she uttered would reach him.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she reached deep down inside herself, refusing to let them appear. She would not look away, not give in. Pride strengthened her spine, squared her shoulders.

She did not know it, but to the Admiral, her countenance was such that he startled inwardly. For a moment there he had the impression of an impregnable statue – he had met with members of the first nations before. This was the first time he was consciously reminded of her background – but did she actually have native blood? The alabaster white skin, the deep circles under the grey eyes suggested otherwise. A remote part of him wanted to be impressed by this unyielding creature, to listen to the deep, expressive voice until he could forgive her and take her into his arms, grateful to have her returned to him unharmed. To feel the statue turn pliable under his fingers, the stony face aglow and the now hooded eyes fiery with passion. With a frown he started away.

It did not matter. This episode had poisoned her to him. She had endangered his children. He turned and walked toward the assembly without a backward glance. While still highly alert to the slender figure at his back, when his peripheral vision included the door, she was gone. He had not heard the lock. Eyes narrowing, he hesitated.

The blond Canadian appeared at his side, a first-aid-kit in hand. At Chandler's raised brow, the soldier frowned. "Where ees ze girl?" His voice was gravelly, reminding Chandler of the CMO.

"Why the kit?"

"I 'ave to re-bandage 'er injury…" Marton tilted his head searchingly. "I thought eet obvious. She did not tell you?"

"No." Damn… Come to think of it, she had seemed unwell – so pale... "What happened?"

"While we waited for the Professor to come check 'er story, one of 'er former colleagues snapped. 'e attacked 'er."

"What?"

"'e'd always been unstable, 'e knew 'er from ze université. I believe she was one of ze group who fled to Banff when ze outbreak started, and who 'ad access to the network zis Valkyrie woman set up. We thought she was from ze wrong side… you know all zat… so 'e snapped. Thought she 'ad changed allegiance, or betrayed zem, or something."

"Dad?"

Chandler turned, thoughts chasing each other in his head. "Sam, I told you to stay upstairs! You should…"

All four of them stood there, eyes fastened to the blond man. Their expressions were of such undiluted, alert curiosity that Tom hesitated.

"I know you!" the boy stated with a slight frown. "You were there."

Mike had stepped up to the group, blue eyes alert. The broad hands reached out to touch his two wards. "Yeah, daddy, we heard him!"

Marton's brows lifted, he took a half-step back, uncertainty in his posture.

The two men exchanged a glance. "Ok guys, where did you see him?"

"No, we didn't see him!" - "I said _heard_ him!" - "We couldn't see anything!"

Three voices mixed.

Ashley pouted, eyes still fixed on the Canadian. "When we were waiting for you and Uncle Mike, Dad."

"And Ben, the pilot!"

"We heard _him_ " - she pointed at Marton - "and somebody else talk."

Tom felt cold crawl up his back. "Really? How can you be certain?" he tried to keep his voice light, while slowly the pieces started to fall into place.

"Yes, his voice is so deep, like a hungry bear. And he sounds like my French teacher from school. Eet and 'er."

 _…_ _who had been a Canadian herself,_ Tom remembered dimly. There was nothing to make the two officers question the sincerity of the girl's reasoning. It was a fair description of the pronounced Quebec accent and the deep voice.

Sam piped up. "That was when the Elf left. She didn't want him to find us first. Where is she?"

Mike's young nephew piped up: "Why'd you bring the first aid kit?"

"Your Elf got 'urt."

The blond man had spoken before Tom could motion him to silence. The tall man felt the blood pounding in his ears, he was leaning against the back of a chair. The children reacted to the gentle words with frowns of varying degrees of seriousness.

Mike had not yet connected all the dots. "How exactly did you meet Miss Rykers?"

Marton grimaced disarmingly. "Alain and me vere circling your 'elicopter after ze explosion, looking for 'o came to check … for you, I guess. My comrade had seen 'er earlier, a shadow. Ve vere suspicious. Miss Rykers stumbled out from between two buildings, scared and shocked and be-wildered, begged us for 'elp. Of course ve vere suspicious, but she was unarmed and we took 'er out of zere, back to our camp. When she 'eard us mention ze Professor, she asked to see 'im. Once zat was over and done with, it was clear ve vere on ze same side…" He shrugged, this had been discussed earlier.

Tom knelt down to meet his daughter eye to eye. "Ashley, Alviarin left you after you heard the voices? Where were they?"

"The voices? Right outside the window."

"What _exactly_ did she say to you? Please, honey, this might be important."

The girl drew a breath, twisted a strain of dark hair around her finger and frowned. "You and uncle Mike were coming from the other side, but you were too far away to see our torches – safely, you know, so nobody else could see us." Tom nodded, suppressing his impatience. "Then we heard the voices, or Alvi did at first, and she climbed up to the window. Then she told us to hide and be really quiet, and that when you and Uncle were close enough so we could see your eyes clearly, we should, you know… what we did… light the torches at our faces so you'd know it was us. Only if you were to change direction we were allowed to light them sooner. And if a stranger should come in, we should hide and stay silent."

"Only if they found us and tried to take us away, we should scream, you or her would hear us." Mhari divulged.

"Either you or she would come find us."

"What do you think how much time passed between when she left you and you signalled to us?" It was all Tom could do to keep his voice even.

Ashley looked at her brother. "Sammy counted. Alvi said to count to fifty. Sam only got to thirty-two." – "Yes, I did, but slowly! But Dad, Alvi can tell you everything!"

Marton had lost the boyish expression. "Do I understand correctly? You children vere in zat house? Zere vere two more of my team coming toward where ve came upon 'er – or better she came upon us. She distracted four of us while you entered zat high building with the windows? And took zese children away and ve never noticed? She is remarkable."

"Dad, where is she? This feels like this movie Rashomon. Let her tell it herself." Tall, quiet Mhari threw in dryly, leaning against Mike. Who knelt down too.

"You guys are so calm about this, weren't you frightened?"

His daughter smiled a tight-lipped little smile that made her resemble him shockingly. "Dad, she spoke like Auntie Liz when we had that car accident. Like she wanted to make sure we didn't freak out. She was great with Zach. You weren't even really scared, little man, were you?"

The blond boy shook his head self-importantly, a little intimidated by the eyes focused on him. "Where is Alvi?"

Chandler met his XO`s worried glance. "She's outside."

Mike grimaced. He could guess what had passed between them: he had been mad as hell at the young woman for leaving the children alone, too. "Marton, what's her injury?"

"Stab wound to ze lower belly. Nothing vital was 'it, but she lost quite a lot of blood."

"Mike." Tom Chandler felt the cold settle around him like a mantle. What had he done?

"Guys, we'll go look for Alvi. I think she just stepped out."

"But she's hurt!"

"Yes, Ashley, and we'll find her and bring her back."

"Are you still mad at her?"

God, that boy put his finger right into the sore spot. "No, Sammy, I'm not mad at her."

"Promise you'll bring her home, dad?"

"I'll do my best. Jed!"

A few quick words to Jed Chandler, who gathered the children to him; Marton and another two of the newcomers joined the naval officers.

Outside the door, the men spread up, heading in the two directions.

"Where would she go? She doesn't know the surroundings…" Mike ground his teeth. "I didn't behave my best towards her, either."

"You only just found your girl. You're excused anything, Mike. What I said to her…" Tom shook his head minutely. "Remember how close our leaving that school was?" _She bought us the necessary time to get the children to safety. And got stabbed for it._ They needed to find the young woman, then he could try to apologize.

"How come the kids didn't touch this earlier? Did we not pose the correct questions?"

"Apparently not." Tom spit out the words. "How could I miss… she didn't leave them to make contact with the Canadians, she left the children to draw the supposed enemy away. Contact with the Canadians was a sideproduct."

"She'd really leave? More importantly, you'd really have let her leave?" his XO pointed out warily. "You seemed lighter for her presence."

Tom almost did not answer at all. But bearing in mind the recent twinned loss and gain of his friend, the words came forth slowly: "I let myself be blinded by the fact that she left the children alone. I don't think I meant for her to leave…"

"That's not like you…" Mike's words were casual. "On the other hand, with her - you did this before – jumping to conclusions… You still feel guilty for falling for her?"

"She got to me on the _Nathan James_ , her bravery, her grace, the way she looked up to me but held her own, but here, where I should still be seeing Darien, she tackles my Dad, my children… being in this empty home, seeing how she makes Ashley laugh – really giggle, the way a child should! Last night… she effectively told me that guilt is a bad motivator. When that explosion shattered the night, my first thought was of the kids – and her."

The other man hid a grimace. The growing intensity of his own feelings toward the girl was what upset Tom's equilibrium. The young woman was getting to him on too many levels at once.

"Mate, I understand your point, but give it up already," Mike drawled exaggeratingly. "She sees the world in you - all the better for you. Tell her your thoughts, see how she reacts. There's nothing wrong with what's happening here. And who knows, she might be a bad cook."

Now it was Tom's turn to grimace wryly. "She's trying to give me my space, while keeping some for herself, and otherwise has little experience with relationships."

Mike snorted. "So she won't let you order her around. I could have told you that. Tom, as I said on the ship: I could not wish for a better thing to happen to you. Watching you with her… don't let her slip away over a simple misunderstanding. She acted well last night. What was this about her getting hurt?"

Tom was silent for the next minutes, mulling over his own thoughts. Finally he looked up consciously, checked their surroundings and ground out with hidden anxiety: "This is no use. If she's hurt, she should not have gotten this far. Let's get a car."

They circled back to the house, meeting the Canadians – as ineffective as the two Americans had been – half way.

Blond Marton had a helpful idea: "The puppy. 'e's half-grown, but 'e followed 'er around from the moment 'e let 'er touch 'im. Do ve have anything of 'ers?"

Mike and Tom exchanged an exasperated glance as the Canadians explained: The young woman had brought a grey husky pup from her encounter with the Canadians. The puppy had wandered into their camp a week earlier, and had let the men and women feed him, but kept far from human touch. Alviarin had sat down under the watchful eyes of her guard and within half an hour had the young animal sleeping on her legs.

The children of course were enchanted with him. His leash had been fastened to the back of the garden shed, he was fast asleep. Marton coaxed the young animal outside, Ashley brought an undershirt from the Elf's pack, and after some urging, the blue-and-green eyes focused and the dog started to head down the street at a leisurely pace, tail wagging.

All while they were following the whelp, Tom's thoughts revolved around the short exchange, the expression on the pale face, the resolve in the grey eyes. Alviarin must have been tired after the night and day she'd had, wounded – the Canadian had said she'd lost some blood – and still, they were running around for half an hour now, this time straight toward the border of the town. She was heading for the empty land.

Finally, the darkness almost complete, there she was, a slender figure almost indiscernible from the background. She was leaning her forehead against the rough bark of a large tree at the side of the road, hands and face lighter blotches. She had not yet noticed them. But when the puppy gave a happy bark, she started - badly. Turning, she ran unseeing eyes over the group coming toward her, wavered, and sank senselessly to the ground before the men could reach her.


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Tom walked the hospital corridor slowly, letting the past hours pass before his inner eye.

* * *

Two programmers who claimed acquaintance with Valerie Raymond asked to join them on the flight south. Tom agreed after they told the navy guys details that identified them as true members of Alvi's group of aquaintances from Banff. The Professor offered a couple of laptops to help their setup of the new network.

It had only been a short discussion over how to proceed. Tom and Mike could not stay in Norfolk any longer. The internet was down, there was no way to contact St. Louis, and with the equipment packed there was no reason to delay. Leaving an unconscious Alviarin to the Canadians to care for was out of the question and there was the hospital in St. Louis. Her wound taken care of as best as their limited resources allowed, she was wrapped up and made comfortable on a stretcher, the pup at her side – head on her legs.

The helo finally loaded and ready to go, the leave-taking was short and serious. Jed let his grandchildren go with an uncharacteristically gentle smile and quickly walked away.

The children quickly found their places – each two besides their dad. While the girls and Zach fell asleep almost within minutes, Sam sat watching his surroundings with serious eyes that pierced Tom's heart. Those were his dead wife's eyes. To distract them both, he pulled the boy on his lap and asked gently, tapping the little bag of leather that lately hung around his neck with a finger. "Tell me the story behind this?"

"Alvi made them for me and Ashley."

"Ashley and me," Tom corrected absentmindedly. _Alviarin again._

"When we went down to the park for the last time, she gave them to us. I think she was a little nervous, because Ashley had been soooo mad the other day. She told us what they meant." He clumsily pulled at the strings that held the thing together and pried it apart. A crude jade rhino appeared, maybe one-third the size of the original ornament, fitting well into a child's hand. When had she had time for this?

"Ashley's got the same?"

"Yes. To keep Mum with us, and to remind us that we are siblings. She said fighting is ok, but we need to take care of each other now that mum is gone. We need to make sure that we don't break apart, because no matter what happens, we will always be brother and sister."

"That's a lovely thing to say." The words came automatic, while his eyes went over to where a slight sheen of sweat covered the pale brow. She had never known family. And he had accused her of light-heartedly putting the children in danger.

Unperturbed, the boy went on. "Ashley's looks a little different, because mum's dust catcher broke into two different pieces. Like we are different. But they are close enough, like the two original pieces fit together. And so we'll always have something mum loved with us, and something of you too, because you gave it to her and because the bags are made from your old gloves."

"Indeed."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, Sammy, I think the Elf had a brilliant idea, there."

He wrapped his arms around his son, kissing the dark hair. Sam leaned into him, the small body still fitting into his embrace seamlessly. After a while, breathing almost slowed down to even sleep, the boy told him earnestly: "I'm glad we're going with you, dad."

Tom tightened his embrace a fracture and leaned his face into the soft hair, breathing in his son's smell. "Me too."

* * *

Landing in the shadow of the Arch, they had quickly reconnected with the locals. Mike had taken the children for breakfast, to be met by Tex Nolan and his daughter. Tom had gathered the Canadians and gone to meet Mitchener and his newly formed government. Alviarin had been handed over to the care of the medical team.

The equipment would be handled and delivered where it could be set up, and the private boxes brought to the two designated houses.

Chandler felt calmer after he had observed Valerie Raymond with the two Canadian programmers – they knew each other somewhat – virtually – and connected easily. Within moments a sort of private network was set up and a crude back and forth with the team in Norfolk was established. After preliminaries – Chandler and his group had landed safely, the president had been informed and was grateful for the support up north – were taken care of, Tom went straight to the hospital.

Rachel Scott was surrounded by a group of people, discussing intently what Tom gathered were the steps to mass-reproduce the cure. The admiral stood in the door, watching and listening for a long moment, reassuring himself that not only was the dark-haired woman on the mend and faring as well as the local doctor had assured him, but also that their main mission was on track.

He did not need them to notice him – there would be a moment to talk to Rachel later. Now his heart pulled him on to where another woman was reportedly sleeping peacefully.

Milkowsky had walked two flights of stairs with the Admiral – electricity was rare enough to be reserved for the more important units – and told him how Tex Nolan had come to visit, bearing a promise, clothes and the puppy. The doc had been startled by the request, but being an animal lover himself, had acquiesced quickly and found the husky a bowl of water. Tex had left again with an update on the young woman's recovery.

Alviarin had woken up shortly after her transfer to the hospital was complete – but only to answer the most basic questions. She had been badly disoriented and panicked until a familiar face could be found and had fallen asleep after Milkowsky's dry assurances. Her wound was healing, her orders were not to lift anything heavy for the next weeks, otherwise move carefully and pace herself. She could be released into home-care as soon as she wished it.

* * *

 _"_ _How did you meet Mademoiselle Rykers?"_

 _"_ _She stumbled onto my ship in Baltimore. How did she persuade you to meet me?"_

 _"_ _She is eloquent. Parts of her story were corroborated by her peers. Enough to make me curious. You sent her because she has Canadian background?"_

 _"_ _Something like that." Tom would not give this man more than necessary, much as he would like to trust him fully. Professor Lacroix was a small, wiry man of advanced age with a weather-beaten face and sharply bent nose. His dark eyes had taken in the officer with calm alert, but either Alviarin's story or Tom's presence were enough to open his mind._

 _"_ _We heard conflicting stories, the information to be found on the net and networks were contradictory, too. Mitchener was a nobody, and so quickly rose from supporting the English to American president? Then an airborne cure? Forgive our scepticism."_

 _Tom had to grimace at the words dripping disarming sarcasm. He had tried to sketch out the missing dots for the other. At some point he had stopped: "Why do I get the feeling you're only half listening?" Was this a trap?_

" _Captain Chandler, your name is known, your father's too, and Valerie Raymond also carries some weight with the young people I am proud to call part of my team. So, answer me a few questions concerning the future and we are allies._ "

 _That had been the end of it. Something about the quick turnaround smelled off to Chandler, so before calling this first meeting over, he asked negligibly: "So, our Miss Rykers – do you know each other? She wasn't certain. The name is fairly common."_

 _Something gave in the Canadian's face. "Funny, she reminded me of that only after she had already won my trust. Take good care of the young woman."_

* * *

And this was now where Tom Chandler found himself, reaching for the door's handle.

Was it true what Mike had said, that he, Tom, could not accept this young woman happening to him, because he felt guilty over Darien, over the losses on the Nathan James, over things he could have done differently? His XO's words had been barbed, even if the other man had not necessarily meant them to be. _"You hurt her – we hurt her: first trusting her with the children, then accusing her of doing a bad job without even letting her explain. She proved she can think and act quickly, analytically, and puts everyone else before herself. So, think who is getting the worst of this…"_

He leaned his forehead against the cool wood for a moment. It had been less than a week since they had talked about Darien for the first time. But of course, with the children in the picture, this thing between them – would either intensify, or be torn apart. For her part, she'd been doing well with the children, with all four of them. The way Mhari described her calm, matter-of-fact way to deal with danger – including them reasonably, but neither scaring them nor making light of the situation – she had instinctively found the right tone. That girl had had it right – _let her tell her side._

For his part, there was no hesitation. The question might be how much had he destroyed with his actions?

With a decisive move he opened the door, only to startle from his thoughts. The bed was empty, the blankets rumpled. The emotions cursing through him reminded him of standing in the eye of a storm.

Consequently he was surprised by a small yip, and the puppy came up from behind him – the closet at the back of the room! - guarding the young woman with his half-comical, half-tragic look and wagging ears.

Tom turned, highly alert.

Alviarin stood behind him, leaning against the wall with one hand, eyes wide. She had been dressing – jeans and a plaid flannel shirt almost made his brows rise.

There was precious little colour in her face, her hair had not yet been rebraided and hung loosely like a coat around her shoulders and down her back.

She regarded him with the wary reticence he remembered from the first times they met on the _Nathan James_.

"Should you be walking around?"

"Tom." Anxiety rose into her eyes. "Everything ok?"

He couldn't help it. "No."

She did not catch the self-directed sarcasm. "The children? Mike? Rachel?" Her voice was rough.

Tom could smile a little at what the order betrayed. "Everyone's ok."

The realization and relief was written clearly on the pale face, but then her features changed, drew inward. With a shaky breath the young woman straightened, relaxing her shoulders consciously and muttered quietly: "You mean you and me."

Something in her tone made the tall man hesitate. It kept a distance between them, raising cold up his back. He stayed silent. Slowly she walked over to the bed and sat down, closing her eyes trying to hide the pain in her abdomen – one hand pressed to the injured spot.

"You could have trusted me." Her voice was toneless, even deeper than usual. "And I don't mean… I mean when you sent me off to read to the children and discussed the flyers – which Jed didn't trust me with. I lived in Canada, there are few enough universities that I would have known how to verify this Professor. If we had sought them out or I had gone to spy on them instead of throwing them in the same category as the mercenaries the whole episode might have been avoided."

Tom took a breath, taken by surprise. It was true, Jed had sent the young woman upstairs and only after had brought out the papers. The days had been so full and chaotic and draining, he, Tom, had forgotten – or hesitated? – to include the young woman in the detailed planning. Would he have considered putting her in that kind of ambivalent danger?

"Alviarin…"

With measured movements the young woman changed position, drawing her legs toward her. "As to the other thing – Tom, I never had a family. Being entrusted with the four elves, Gods, you have no idea what you and Mike did there!" Her voice grew quiet, the calm hard fought-for.

Chandler walked over to the window, gripping the sill for balance. He had to let her finish.

"I would have died before I let anything happen to them. I had every single possible scenario running circles in my head. You were coming from one side, too slow, four enemy combatants from the other. I have no tactical training, I do not know how you would have acted. I stand by my decision to draw them away. Guns in that small, enclosed space… the children in the middle of possible conflict…" she shook, wrapping her arms around her knees. Tom had turned around, staring down at her, his heart in his mouth.

Alviarin lifted her head then, looked up at him, blinking against the light, and stated matter-of-factly: "I would have argued when you confronted me. If there is nothing else to be said between us, then…"

"Stop." The word wrenched free from the iron grip the Admiral had held on himself.

The grey eyes held an unreadable expression, hurting him with the knowledge that he had destroyed something between them. Choosing his words carefully, Chandler felt like he was balancing on ice. "You said I act with foresight and thought of my family and crew? Where you are involved, I let myself be blinded and hampered by guilt and small-mindedness."

This was obviously not what the young woman had expected. Her eyes widened – questions, pain, misgiving spoke to him. Relief threaded its way into Tom's consciousness – he could read her face again. Something wanted to break through in those grey pools that often reminded him of the calm, steely surface of the Pacific on a morning just before sunrise.

"The situation with the Canadians, my children, Mike's girl and the little boy – you in the middle of it – brought me to the very edge of my comfort zone. I acted irrationally."

For a split second she held his gaze, then quickly dropped her eyes - but he had caught the expression. His heart beat in his ears.

"Alviarin."

Ever so slowly the pale, narrow face rose again. She tried to school her features into tranquillity, and would have achieved that, if not for the burning eyes. "I can't see your face." Her voice, also, betrayed the plaintive shiver hidden under the smooth surface.

Relief and ironic misgiving rushed Tom. Old tactician that he was, he had stood with his back to the low afternoon sun for the whole time, giving him the clear advantage – he could see her face shining in the warm light, while his was a shadow against the glaring window. He knew that his body language did not betray much, not if she only saw the outline.

Three measured steps brought him to the narrow bed, and he slowly sat down at its edge. Tom met her glance openly, found himself taking in every detail of her countenance hungrily.

Alviarin searched his face, the hardness in her features softening until she seemed so heartbreakingly fragile to him that he longed to cup her face in his hands and…

"I hurt you. Forgive me." He had never been good with words, not in situations like this.

The young woman swallowed, unable to find an answer.

So Tom kept speaking: "I don't think I could have solved that situation better than you did. Mike agrees." Her expression prompted him to add: "And I'm not just saying that. As to the Canadians, you are right. You were before." He shrugged minutely.

That brought a lightening to the serious face before him. She had voiced how hard it was for him to trust in people after Baltimore and the Achilles and the oil rig.

Tom relaxed his shoulders, torn between impatiently pressing her for an answer and trying to understand what was going on behind those stormy grey eyes. He wanted so much to touch her, to re-establish the instinctive, trusting accord they had shared since those first few moments on the ship. His glance distracted by the flopping ear of the grey puppy chewing on a rag reminded him of the moment they had found the young woman, and he took a breath once more.

"You have to stop with the turn and flight, Alviarin. If not this thing between us – you with the children, your place in this community, the friendships you built - it's worth fighting for. You're worth fighting for. Come home with me."

Something new entered her face, her eyes cleared. A certain amount of steel burned in her voice as she now quietly returned: "Tom, I'm not one of your sailors, or marines. I will not follow blindly – anyone. If you give me responsibilities, I need to be fully in the picture, and I need to know that you trust me. I understand the necessity of earning trust and sometimes keeping secrets, but…"

Tom almost reached out and touched a long-fingered hand. "I trust you, Alviarin. I don't trust you to look after yourself, but otherwise, I would leave my children - or Mike or the _James_ \- in your hands again without hesitation."

His words effected the adorable little snort he had aimed for and he did reach for her hand.

And with the simple touch of three fingers against wrist, the static flared to life. The long curls falling over her shoulders moved with the hitch in her breath, her fingers curled a little so they touched his hand in return. Their eyes met. Tom swallowed unobtrusively – the intensity of her gaze was smouldering.

Whatever she read in his face was enough, it seemed. One slender hand reached up as if to touch the lines over his brows, but she hesitated. "I hated being separated from you. When the explosion occurred, my first thought was…"

Tom gripped the fragile hand tighter in his. "Me too. Those were horrible moments."

"Do we know yet who was responsible?"

The Admiral considered her – was she trying to keep the conversation clinical on purpose? "Your friends think it might even have been a reaction without human interference. There were chemicals involved that, if electricity failed once too often or a cable burned through, might ignite by themselves."

"Nothing vital was destroyed?"

"No."

"And the children?"

His impression reasserted himself. She was apprehensive about something and kept the conversation upright on purpose.

"The children are fine. Asking after you, all four of them, so did Tex Nolan and Andrea Garnett – as far as I know. Mike will have met more of our crew." Tom smiled. "They thought of the evening as more of an adventure. Mhari is the oldest. She was once in a car accident with her aunt, who is an experienced police officer, and said you kept the children calm while including them the same way her aunt did. They came out of it proud of their involvement. You did good."

To both their surprise, Alviarin chuckled. He wanted to trace the dimples appearing in her cheeks, enjoyed the melodious sound.

"I'm surprised she analysed me so easily. Half of it was instinct or necessity, the other half conscious aim. They responded well."

Distracted by a yip from the half-grown animal they both glanced down.

"Yes… I found a half-wolf."

"He's welcome. He helped us find you after my inopportune welcome."

"He… he did?"

Tom gripped her hands with both of his. Enough of this. "Alvi, I need to get back, see to the furnishing of the house, the rest of the crew and maybe look in at Dr. Scott again. Milkowsky said you could be released into home care, your wound is healing well."

There was that held breath again.

"Tom… you brought me to St. Louis. Why?"

"Because it needed your friend Marton and the children in one room to finally hear the whole story." His voice had turned gravelly, he had to relax his jaw consciously.

Alviarin tilted her head, brows drawing together.

"Neither Mike nor I had managed to make the kids explain what exactly had made you leave them. The circumstances… and they could have made us see, fully, had we managed to look past the initial fury."

He put a knuckle under her chin, asking her to read his utter misgiving in his eyes. "Forgive me. Let me take you home."

Her lower lip shook. "Home?"

Ah – they had never actually talked about this. He squared his shoulders, hiding a smile.

"I've been offered a four bedroom house in a slightly outlying, but fairly lively part of town. Most of the crew have moved into the neighbourhood. There's a park with a natural pond and playground. We've got a large garden we'll share with Mike, who's moving in next door. The boxes are mostly there already, just furniture is sparse." Now he allowed the smile to touch his eyes. She followed his words so seriously, something almost tragic in her expression. "There is a fair bedroom on the ground floor with a bathroom attached. It may have been meant as a guest room, but the children and I agreed it would be perfect for you. Your backpack is waiting there, including your staff."

Head tilted, the young woman gazed up at him with a pensive expression bordering on sceptical. He wanted nothing more than to lean forward and kiss the slightly pursed lips.

"You're serious about this?"

"Absolutely." His words were measured.

"You thought this through? After… after everything? Me… living with you, your children?"

"I would rather keep an eye on you."

First she searched his face, one corner of her mouth twitching at his last words. Then her eyes fell on their joined hands, and ever so slowly she nodded. Impulsively she brought his hand up to her cheek, leaning her face into it. Their eyes met. Tom saw the heat that flared through him reflected in kind in the wide, somewhat surprised grey eyes. The pulse beating at the side of her neck… As he had longed to do he cupped her face in both his hands and found her lips with his mouth, threading his fingers against her warm scalp. The young woman responded with instant urgency, leaning against him, hands gripping his arms. Mindful of her injury, Tom half lifted, half pulled at the warm, slender body until she was pressed flush against him, her hand snaking into his hair.

He kissed her hungrily, making up for the lost time, erasing the left-over bitterness in a wash of heat and tenderness. Touch... Taste... Feel...

* * *

AN: yes, a few holes left open, i know, I'm not done yet... :-). I appreciate feedback of any form. Hope you'll forgive me for the long wait. (Still no season 3 for me - i can't touch the new episodes while "my" story is still taking form. I'm scared of beeing scared away from these scribbles... if that makes sense. Love and Peace to ya all!)


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

"You're quiet." Tom remarked, throwing the young woman on the co-driver's seat a slanted glance. The pale face had a faraway expression, her eyes were feverish.

"Tom, sorry, my mind is running in circles. Is this not a bit fast – me moving in with you guys? Have you talked to Ashley and Sam?"

"Too fast?"

"Just that… Norfolk didn't go smoothly…"

"How so?"

"Tom… your dad… the children… I can't take Darien's place."

"Enough. What's ahead of us will need energy, time, and more time. If you move in with Miss Raymond, or Andrea Garnett, how much will we be able to see each other?"

"Oh."

"Are you worried for yourself – am I putting pressure on you?"

"For myself? No."

Almost he asked 'why not', curious where that would get them. Her answer had been thoughtlessly quick. But she was obviously a little upset by the subject.

"Let me worry for my family's side." Chandler glanced over at her. "Look, we never talked about this, Norfolk was challenging for me. Take your time. You'll have your own key, be free to move about. I don't expect anything from you. We can just give this a try… ease into it… I don't see much possibility for a romantic date in the near future."

"I'll be silent now."

He laughed. He loved these moments when he took her by surprise and she let him know it. "It was nice to have you there. I… want you there. Are you worried because of how I reacted? Alvi…" He tensed. It had been a long, long time since his temper had flared like that. Turning his head again, he met her eyes – and like quicksilver the lovely face, closed and inquisitive before, cleared.

She smiled shyly. "Worried you suddenly proved human after all?"

He reached over to grip her hand, revelling in the glowing grey eyes. But something thoughtful lingered in the way she rested her head against the seat, keeping it turned toward him.

Wondering if her thoughts went the same way as his, Chandler took a breath. "I'll sit down with Mike in the morning, probably Tex too. Figure out a schedule for the children."

Her hand tightened around his, she took a breath.

"I was hoping you'd join. Mike brought up the question of teaching the children a bit of orientation, self-defence, basic survival …"

Alviarin nodded thoughtfully. "Aye, that can easily be combined with some exploration of the town and its surroundings. Get them a feel for the place, look for fresh food… Tom, what happened to the youngsters you took on board searching for mussels?"

"They're around. Chief Jeter made them his responsibility for the time being."

"You said Val got reinforcements, what did you mean?"

"Two of your common acquaintances from up north joined us on the flight here – with six high-performance laptops from Professor Lacroix."

"Ah. What about Rachel?" She could get details later.

Tom grinned at the studiedly non-committal tone. "She's going to the west coast – Oregon. There's an outbreak situation combined with a H1N1 virus."

"But she'll have some soldiers with her?"

"And what medical personnel can be spared."

Alviarin nodded silently.

"Alvi – your talk with Professor Lacroix. I'll need to know what passed between you."

"I know. Right now?"

"No. We're here."

The young woman sat up straighter as Chandler let the car slowly pass by a row of yellowish houses situated in a lazy curve, divided by narrow strips of grass and fences. Small front gardens kept up the facade of small-town-friendliness, glimpses between the houses promised flat green grounds in the back. The sun was setting, the atmosphere eerily normal. By now the car rolling in had been noticed: faces at the windows, waving hands, and then – an open door revealed Mike, and behind him…

"Beorn and the four hobbits." Exultation resonated in her voice, making Tom's lips twitch, even though he did not get her reference.

"Alvi, you naughty girl – you and the captain? Seriously? Isn't he a bit old for you?"

"Bloody hell, Val. Hello to you to, and how have you been?"

"Oh I can do better, I'm sure. Did you sleep in his wife's bed?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

"But Alvi, … Gods, I should have realised. They way you spoke about him… how long has it been going on? On the Nathan James? Was he the reason you stayed?"

"Val, shut up. Let – ah, I get it. They've been giving you shit about Ramsay. That's why you're all cray-cray."

Val let her head fall until it bumped onto the table. "Damn you, wolfgirl."

"How bad was it?"

"Half as bad as I deserve, I'm sure. I'm good. Your guys took to my defence."

"Bet you hated that." Alviarin had to laugh.

The other glanced up with her eyes twinkling evilly. "So how was Norfolk? How exactly did Ben manage to get you? Wolfman said…"

"You've been talking to Wolfman?"

Val shrugged. "They talk about how fast you are without any weapon at all."

"Yeah, well, colour me embarrassed. I hadn't slept, and certainly wasn't expecting Ben of all people, least of all with a knife."

"Ladies…" Andrea Garnett appeared at their table, a bright smile lighting her face. Alviarin stood automatically, feeling her mouth widen into a grin involuntarily. The older woman recognized the slight hesitation in the younger one's posture and held out her hand.

"Elf, good to see you again." She pulled the young woman into a quick hug. "Seems like an eternity."

"Same for me. The ship-life changes perception of time, doesn't it?"

"Sit down, you'll have a beer with us!" Val entered the conversation. She was not going to let Alvi go without a few answers. The blond officer would help.

"Alviarin? Beer? Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes and no." The young woman shrugged. "Sit, please."

"All right." Garnett nodded at the cherry-dreadlocked computer-scientist, who handed her a bottle. "So where were you gals?"

"I was giving Alvi shit about sleeping with the mighty captain." Valerie chuckled.

Both Alviarin and Andrea Garnett choked on their sip of liquid.

Alviarin pouted, disgruntled and exasperated. "For the record, if you make Andrea wrong-swallow any more beer, I will knock whatever you swallowed out of you!"

The blond engineer grimaced. "She's not giving me a heart attack, if that's what you mean. You went to Norfolk with the admiral and the XO. And I saw you coming out of that hotel, if you remember."

"Fantastic."

"Alviarin, are you drunk?"

"She never drinks, so if she does, it's a cheep inebriation." Valerie's sneer was so comical, it brought Andrea Garnett to the brink of choking on another sip. "All right, Wo – Elf, let's start with the easy part. Ben." – aside to the blonde she added: "She got stabbed by our old colleague."

"Oh?" Andrea managed a sarcastic grunt, brows lifting.

Alviarin bought herself some time, making a show of sitting up straighter.

"They had me waiting for Professor Lacroix. I had the pup across my feet, was just nodding off, when he came to. You have to understand-" she turned to Andrea, "Ben's a big guy, crazy smart with computers, but not humans. He makes Valerie look like a Lego figurine computer wise, but like a Barbie doll conspiracy wise. He'll believe the weirdest things." She took a sip. "Anyway-"

"Wait." Andrea cut in, brows furrowing. "You rank Legos before Barbie?"

"Miles, Andrea, miles…"

"Right." The other woman nodded. "Go on."

"So Ben must have seen me sitting there, guards around me, heard some rumours about why I was there and how the Canadians picked me up. Guess I was so drowsy that I didn't place his anger correctly. I thought he came to embrace me or something…"

The young woman shivered convulsively, face pulling into a painful grimace.

"He was always gonna snap, Alvi, you yourself said that."

"His paranoia was helpful when the outbreak touched Calgary…"

Silence settled on the small group, until Andrea Garnett left to grab three fresh bottles.

"Quick, the other subject. You and the captain, in his house, his bedroom-"

"Val, tactful much? You're such an idiot. Imagine for a moment what his house looked like: two – three children with expressions no child should wear, efforts all around to keep up a semblance of normal, overgrown gardens, shattered windows. The XO off to search for his family, you know how that ended, and the Admiral – torn between private life and the mission."

Val regarded the friend with raised eyebrows, not quite ready to give up.

Alviarin shrugged. "I never set foot in his bedroom, Val. We hardly touched."

"So you didn't help him pack? His wife's photographs?"

"Nah, I mostly helped the children, and with other stuff."

Andrea returned, passing the cold bottles around. A warning glance from the grey eyes told Valerie clearly that that was it with the subject.

But it seemed even Andrea was not ready to let it go quite so cleanly: "But living together, how will that suit you?"

"It's been what, two days? We're flat-mates so far. The children take the arrangement at face-value. You can't really date in this situation, can you? But you, Andrea, how've you been?"

"Oh, I spent most of the days on the James. I've moved into a bungalow-complex with a couple of the crew. Incidentally, it was that Spanish fellow, from the restaurant, remember? He knew of the place and organized it for us. Tex already helped them with some repair-work in return."

"How's the ship doing? Your crew?"

"Slow work. Lots of parts will have to be made from scratch, and we miss personnel sorely. It'll be easier once you're back on your feet and we can take turns and split into two groups."

"You do realise that I'll have like three jobs at once?"

"Yes. Miss Raymond already mentioned that you'll be needed at the computers, too."

Alviarin's thoughtful glance rested on the blond woman for a moment. Andrea was leaving out the subject of the children on purpose. So be it, the other woman needed time.

"Yeah, our two mates from up there are barely adequate."

The chief engineer grinned at the obvious inside joke between the two scientists.

"Say, why were there Canadians so far south? In Norfolk? Did they tell you?"

"To put it into few words – the Professor might have had one foot in with the government, and taken the lead of this group out of pure necessity. They came south looking for the bigger army sites for one reason, and for another simply to gather information. That's why they have so much equipment. Build a network. How my friends from Calgary met his group I haven't yet found out to my satisfaction, but I will get to the bottom of this."

"We've got to get this one drunk more often, don't you agree?" Andrea grinned at Valerie.

"So how is life in St. Louis?"

The blond engineer took a long draft from her bottle. "Weird, normal, chaotic… hopeful, careful, optimistic. Pick whatever you like."

"That's a fair description, Chief." Val pursed her lips.

"Not all of the town is cleared – you know, of the…. corpses. So there are still teams walking around, trying to identify and log everybody. Water and drainage works fine so far, electricity is a problem. Engineers are scarce, I've been asked a hundred things, from the power station maintenance to repair on generators."

"But no secondary diseases?"

"No. Hospital is running, almost fully staffed, and enough disinfectant was stored there to keep wounds clean. Internet is often down."

An accusingly raised brow directed at Val made the addressed stuck out her tongue at her friend. "Alv, it's hard to produce miracles if there's no electricity and flooded or overheated servers everywhere."

"Now that I'm here we can start to figure these things out." Alvi mocked consolingly. She was trying hard to keep the conversational tone light. "What about the Callaway nuclear station? What other power stations are we talking about?"

"Callaway was taken offline safely, it seems. Otherwise… the main power around here came from coal, but that needs maintenance, which is impossible now."

"Hydroelectric stations? The solar farms near Springfield?"

"Exactly. Though the Bagnell Dam one isn't delivering… It and the one in Branson should suffice to feed St Louis as reduced as the city is."

"Surely they made a list of the survivors, split them into who has knowledge on what?"

"Yeah, but it takes a while to get this kind of thing running. Where there's no electricity, there are no computers, most everything has to be done by hand. Everybody is most concerned with securing their own…"

"Problems with ringleaders?"

"You've really thought this through, have you?"

"I saw a bit on my journey to Baltimore, and now in Norfolk… Jed Chandler said there was a problem with dogs, that they had to shoot quite some animals, because they became a threat."

The two other women exchanged a glance, shrugging. "Yeah, no, we haven't heard anything about animals…"

Andrea added: "At least the brewery is fully functional, still." She drained her bottle.

The other two women followed suit.

The mood had been spoilt. Alviarin shook her head. "Ah, sorry for asking so many questions."

"Nah, Elf, it's nice to get these things out of my head. I've been looking forward to bounce ideas off you." Andrea's grin slipped a little.

The red-headed computer scientist threw her an evil look from brooding eyes. "You just wanted to turn the subject away from the _interesting_ stuff. Like _how exactly?_ And _seriously?_ "

Alviarin grinned impudently at her friend. "Enough for tonight."

They all agreed grudgingly. Val even managed a gracious: "It was nice to catch up with you. Let's do this again sometime!"

…..

"Elf, I'll walk with you."

"Your place is…?"

"Close enough. So you and Val are old colleagues? I had not known that. And have common friends?"

"It's a university thing. They – I mean Lucas, Mahesh, Ben and the others and Val worked on loosely overlapping subjects – same as me and her a few years ago. So one met on conferences all over the continent or the world actually. Val's network kept them in contact even more than Val and me."

The blond woman nodded, and started counting with her fingers.

"Right. Then the red flue came and you crossed paths with Rachel Scott, stumbled onto the _Nathan James_ and fell in love with our captain."

A somewhat ironic, far away expression crossed the younger woman's face. "Nah, no falling was involved there. I walked into that eyes wide open."

In answer to the engineer's surprised glance, Alviarin blushed, grimaced and squared her shoulders.

"So, anything I have to know before I join you on the _James_?"


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Alviarin woke from light slumber with her heart beating in her ears. Widely alert, she stood soundlessly and waited for the noise to repeat itself.

There it was – bare feet on the wooden floor of the living room. One of the children. She hushed to the door. As usual she had left it ajar. One slight tug and it swung open silently.

It was Ashley, standing in the middle of the room uncertainly, bare arms crossed in front of her stomach.

"Ashley – don't startle. It's me."

"Where's Dad?" there was a sniffle in the girl's voice.

"I think he's next door at Mike's, or still at the office. Are you ok?"

"I... I dreamt…"

Oh sweet child. Another nightmare. She was only half awake. "Thirsty?"

When the girl nodded, Alviarin brought her a cup of water, made her sit down on one of the cushions that served as sofa and wrapped her quickly fetched blanket around her.

"Tell me about it?"

"I was walking… in the forest, where we lived… with Mum and Grandad… she called me, and I went looking for her. But I couldn't find her…"

Carefully the young woman lifted a hand – Ashley did not always like to be touched. "Were you scared?"

"Yes. We were never allowed outside, not alone. But I could hear her voice…" The narrow shoulders began to shake. "I'm so scared that one day I will not remember her voice any more!"

Alviarin reached over and put her arm around the girl.

"Sometimes I dream that she's alive, that it didn't happen at all, and I cry in my dream because where was she all this time that I thought she was dead… and then I wake up…"

A grimace in the darkness – those dreams the young woman knew.

"Have you ever missed somebody like that? Does it get easier? Grandad says it will get easier with time. Do you forget them?"

All right, now she was awake and would actually hear what the young woman answered.

"I lost my mother when I was a little younger than Sam. I can still hear her voice, even now. I can recall her singing. Ashely, nobody can take your memories from you. And in a little bit, you will realise that these memories – as much as they hurt now – they can become a place of strength inside you."

"Today, at the botanical garden – I wanted so much that she was there, that I could show her…" she broke off, frustrated a the inadequateness of words.

"See, I believe my mother is a part of me, because I have my memories of her, and because I am a part of her. So, I believe your mum is with you, inside you and besides you. You both. And she would be proud of you, of your strength, of your laughter. She would be happy for you, every time you enjoy something."

"They say death is peace. Do you think mum is at peace?"

Alviarin swallowed. "No mother wants to leave her children." It came out harsher than she had wanted. Ashley had been sick when her mother died. How much of her passing had she seen? Did she remember? "So I think as long as you are ok, she's at peace."

Ashley was silent for a long moment, leaning into the young woman's embrace. "But it still hurts, every day." There was something matter-of-fact about her words.

Alviarin nodded against the silky hair. "As hard as it is to leave someone, being left behind is harder. But I can offer you this: _Grief never ends - but it changes. It's a passage, not a place to stay. Not a sign of weakness, it is the price of love_."

"That's a little too complicated for me." Ashley's voice was dry now. "But I like it - a passage, not a place to stay."

"A smart man told me that once."

The girl absorbed that bit of information without comment. Then she muttered very quietly: "I think it hurts Dad when we say we miss her, or when we cry for her."

"Hey." Alviarin shook her ward a little. "Your dad hates to see you in pain. He hates to see you cry over something he can't fix."

"Sometimes I can't help it, and you know Sam…"

"He hates that he wasn't there in time to save your mum. You know that, right?"

"I thought there was not anything he could have done differently."

"There wasn't. Doesn't mean that he does not grieve, too, for your mum, and for you two. He loves you more than anything."

Ashely had scrutinized Alviarin at her impassioned words, and now stared out the large windows into the garden.

"Don't be scared you might forget your Mum's voice. You'll dream of her and then you'll have her voice back in your ear."

A long while later the girl remarked, still leaning her head against the Elf's shoulder: "I like going exploring with you. Being able to do something. To see how other people live with…"

"… with what happened?"

"Yes. That it wasn't only us, and that it wasn't the end. That one can stop being afraid all the time. Kelly was always afraid. Though I miss Ava."

"I'm certain she misses you too. I can promise you that we will get some basic internet service up soon. Then you can talk to her. Maybe they will move here, too."

A long yawn accompanied the girl's nod. Alviarin nudged her. "Want to go back to sleep now?"

A soft noise alerted them both. Sam came padding down the stairs rubbing his eyes. "I'm thirsty."

Alviarin shook her head to herself. This was the second night Tom had not been back before the children slept, and of course they both woke.

"Can I sit with you?"

"I was just going back to bed." Ashley tried to be reasonable.

"Just for a little while?" he sat down after emptying Ashley's glass. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"Yes. But it's ok now."

"What time is it?" Sam was cuddling between his sister and the young woman, pulling a corner of the blanket around him.

"Just after midnight."

"Oh." Then: "I don't want to go back to my room. Can I sleep with you?"

"You know my bed is too narrow. And it's too hot…"

"But I can't sleep!"

The tone of the two voices promised trouble.

"I could sleep on the floor in your room, Sammy. You wouldn't be alone."

A short pause. "Or… we could sleep in your bed."

The young woman had to grin. But even Ashley's face had lit up at the boy's suggestion.

"Can we do that?"

By this point, Alviarin would have slept on the grass in the garden. It had been a long day, and long evening – she had worked on an idea, waiting for Tom to come home until she could not stay awake any longer. "Go grab your blankets."

"And you?"  
"I have my mat, and one of the pillows from out here."

"But you have to sleep beside us!" Sam seemed not quite certain he liked his own idea that much after all.

"Yes, monkey, since it is my room!" The Elf grinned, ruffling his hair.

A little while later all was quiet again. Alviarin found the two children's regular deep breathing had a calming effect, and she fell asleep listening to soft snores.

…..

Waking up with a start for the second time, she scolded herself. This time she could have saved herself the trouble if she had thought ahead. Tom had come home, looked in at his children and found them not in their beds. Now he was racing down the stairs.

Alviarin was at the door of her room within a heartbeat.

"Tom," she whispered. She'd gotten up too quickly, light-headedness made her grab the door-frame. "They're here. They're asleep."

The tall man stopped in front of her, glanced over her shoulder while reaching for her wrist.

"I'm sorry, I should have written a note."

"Nightmares?"

"Ashley. Sam just woke up, maybe he heard us talking." She shrugged. "How did it go?"

"Nothing urgent. We can talk in the morning, Elf." He pulled her against him.

Alviarin gave herself up to the feeling of his powerful arms around her. He was wearing t-shirt and sweatpants, and smelled of the city, a whiff of cigar smoke, and himself. Gods, she missed touching him - being touched – being wrapped safely in his strength, his lips resting against the crown of her head. This living together thing, as nice and practical as it was, it made glaringly obvious: the odd hours, the children, her healing injuries - they had not spent more than a moment alone with each other.

It seemed the feeling went both ways. Rough palms ran over her shoulders and back leisurely. Tom was reluctant to let her go. "You go upstairs take my bed, I'll stay down here with them. You should not have to sleep on a mat."

"Tom…"

He hushed her with a slight tightening of his grip on her arms. "We're both too tired to argue. Tomorrow. Sleep, now."

"Ever the gentleman." Alvi shook her head mockingly, stood on tip-toes to kiss his cheek, scratchy with eight hour stubble. Then she padded upstairs, but found herself heading for Sam's room, not Tom's. It would have been an intrusion … without him there.

This time it took her longer to quiet her mind. Being in his arms felt more like home than any place she remembered…

It was the next morning when Tom padded into the living room, stretching the stiffness from his night on the floor out of his limbs laboriously. Most of the wall adjourning the garden was glass, partly to be opened, and there he stood now, gazing out into the dusky morning.

The slender creature out there weaving left to right, into a crouch and up an explosive jump around her staff brought to mind the one morning when he had first encountered the Elf. It had been what, a bit more than ten days that they had returned to St. Louis?

On this front at least things were promising. Ashley and Sam liked the young woman. Ashley, the little witch, had insinuated that Alviarin was a better teacher than Granddad, because she took them out into town to find their bearings and learn their surroundings. His own relationship with the children was blossoming slowly after an absence that felt like a decade – too much had happened to them, to him…

Tom did not mean to take advantage of her, leaving her to take care of the children, but it seemed a satisfactory arrangement for both sides. He'd been wanting to ask her about her opinion. They had kept a distance between them when the children where around, which was almost constantly. But he was concerned about displaying this relationship in front of the children openly… too raw and untouched still the subject of Darien.  
He had already announced to Mitchener that he'd need to take a shorter day or two for his family.

Tom still stood watching Alviarin at her morning routine when the almost soundless tapping of his son's feet alerted him and a small, warm, pudgy hand pulled at his arm so the warm head could fit under it.

Together they watched the young woman bend down to the husky pup that came waddling out of his shelter for a pat on the head and a belly rub.

"Husky is funny." Sam told his father seriously. "The Elf is very strict with him. He'd get into a lot of mischief otherwise."

"Unlike his human friends?"

"Oh, she's strict with us too, but she makes us see the reason, most times."

"And nobody gets stubborn?"

"Only Zach sometimes, but he adores her, so it's ok."

Tom felt his lips curl. Zack adored Alvi? He had seen even tall, solid Mhari's face open when she greeted the young woman.

"Today we're going hiking, looking for plants. Tex and his daughter are coming too. He is cool."

"The garden's going to overgrow soon, if you keep this up."

"But tomorrow we stay with Kara again, she's gonna make us do sums and stuff, because Alvi is due on the Nathan James! Dad, can we go see the James some day?"

"I was joking, Sam. It's good that she takes you out and you bring home fresh stuff. And I think it would be better to let the repairs get underway, and then you can go visit."

…..

The young woman finally returned to the house. Growing aware of father and son standing at the windows, she smiled shyly. In one hand she carried a few stalks of greenery.

At Sam's excited question, she explained patiently: "That's the plant we found in the botanical garden, remember?"

"Oh – oh – lemon balm! For tea?"

"Yes, cold or hot, let's see if the power's up today. Tom, time for breakfast?" her eyes were dancing, pleading just a little.

"Depends… Got enough for all?"

"Yes. Oh - " she'd turned on the stove. "Warm porridge!"

"Then I'll stay."

"I like porridge." Ashley joined them, eyes still puffy. She leaned into her dad's offered embrace like a big cat.

"Sam, help me?"

"Yep!" Sam was hopping into the kitchen area on one leg.

Tom smiled a little, looking after them while enjoying his daughter's sleep-heavy head against his shoulder. Alvi had an instinctive feel for the children.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Tom Chandler did manage to leave the president and his entourage earlier than the last days, disentangling Mike Slattery with him. They had a pick-up at their disposal, and settled into it with the sun still high over the horizon.

"Guess this power station takes precedence, even over the James."

Tom shrugged. "Nothing for it. Now we know how to limit the net, the one station could supply what's left of St Louis, the other be kept idling until it's needed."

"Tragedy… what happened there…"

Chandler did not need to glance over to know the expression on his friend's face. The St Louis major had explained that the Bagnell dam power station's personnel, far, far outside the city cordon, had been struck by the outbreak, none had survived. Some of the surrounding cities' most experienced engineers had been on-site for an inspection , and such been lost, too. It was a far-reaching tragedy owed to unfortunate circumstances.

"Guess we'll send our whole contingent, Garnett, your Miss Rykers, and the new faces working on the James?"

Tom pursed his lips, lifting a shoulder a little. "And visit Springfield and the solar station, see what help would be needed to get that running. I won't let them go without reasonable guard though."

"Springfield… we didn't hear anything from them. The closest was what, that man who had taken his family into Fort Leonard Wood? Anyway, Tex Nolan and Danny Green would be happy to take point."

"How about the CMC's youngsters? Jeter reminded me yesterday he wants to take them out."

"Sounds like you thought this through already." Slattery leaned back.

…

Parking the car finally, the two men exchanged a few sentences about getting together later for a sit-rep, to be surprised by Tex and his daughter opening the door to the Chandler residence.

"Ah, gentlemen, glad you're home so early. Any significant news from the home office?"

Quickly the three men exchanged the latest, and Tex was invited to join the informal gathering.

"Right. Me girl and me had some things we wanted to do beforehand. We'll join you in an hour or two. Oh – the Elf went out. Had a message from our friends in the north waiting. She'll be back in an hour, I estimate."

Chandler nodded, not quite able to smooth the frown from his brow.

But in this moment the two girls appeared behind the older man, and Tex refrained from explaining. There was something haunted in his eyes though that made Tom do a double take. Anxiety piping up, he turned to the girls.

But they seemed unaffected, greeting them with their usual calm, showing enthusiasm at their dad's early return.

After Tex and his girl left, the four children settled down to tell Mike and Tom about their trip to the Shaw Nature Reserve, where they had followed animal trails, and gone exploring, looking for useful plants and a possibility for hunting. They'd built a shelter from tree limbs and twigs, even started a small fire for a warm lunch. The two men exchanged a few glances during the tale: Without having spoken much about the subject, this was exactly what would be the most helpful knowledge in the days to come… for a while yet.

"On the way back we also talked to a chicken farmer who lives south from here. He will maybe give us a few chicken, he cannot look after his any more. He has to either kill them or let them loose, and he's scared they might attract predators, if he turns them loose."

"Right, and where would we put them? Have you thought about that?"

"Yes, dad, if we put a door in the back of the garden fence and put up a little hen-house outside? We'd take turns looking after them, and we can have eggs…"

"The area back there is half wild anyway, and Husky can watch them… We just have to lock them in overnight!"

Tom grimaced. "Let me think about this."

Mhari's glanced at her dad with her expression clearly stating that she would work on _him_ to convince the other man of the necessity. "You like fresh eggs for breakfast, Dad."

"Enough, girls! So, what had you guys planned for dinner?"

When Alviarin finally returned, the tired puppy in tow, the makeshift living room was full of friendly faces. Tex had not only brought his daughter, chief engineer Garnett and Doc Rios, Danny Green, Kara Foster and Wolfman had joined what turned out to be a pot-luck dinner of "apocalyptic" dimensions, as the burly Nevadan threw in casually.

The young woman stood in the door for a moment, something unreadable in her face. By the time little Zach had noticed her and jumped up to pull her into the room she was smiling the unique mixture between shy and elated that, to Tom Chandler, was unequivocally hers.

"Elf, you do realize you can use the _Nathan James'_ name when you go collect food rations… I mean for the Captain's house I'm sure you could get a more varied diet… just because you're not Navy…" Doc Rios challenged in a friendly way.

The young woman tilted her head to the side. "I'd rather not tell everyone and their mother who the Captain's children are. And I tend to aim for self-reliance. Those warehouses will run empty at some point."

"So you went to see Miss Raymond and her computer geeks?"

"Yes." She elongated the affirmative. "Nothing worth repeating there… not that most of you would stay awake to understand any of it." Her eyes glinted evilly.

"But that was over two hours ago," Tex interrupted curiously. "Where've you been?"

The young woman turned a little more serious. "I went to see Rachel Scott off."

Her quick glance at Tex and the twitch in the man's cheek told Tom where that haunted look had come from earlier. Alviarin continued: "I had not had a chance to speak to her since … since we returned from Norfolk, so I took the detour."

"And?" that was Green, light eyes too innocent. His arm lay comfortably around Kara leaning against his side.

"She seemed excited to go, looking forward to the next challenge. She's being eagerly expected."

"That sounds like her."

A slightly uncomfortable silence threatened to spread, but Andrea Garnett broke it: "Have you heard about the Osage river power station, Alviarin?"

"No. But I have noticed that the power is more off than on…"

…..

After a while Alviarin extricated herself from the on-going discussion about the project Bagnell Dam, and slipped into the garden where Wolfman was playing with the two boys and the husky pup. The dark-haired man stopped what he was doing to clasp the Elf's outstretched fore-arm tightly, returning her grip.

"Haven't seen you for a while, Wolfman."

"'t wasn't me who went away, Captain's girl."

"Yeah, you had to get right to the point, did you?"

"Val kept me updated."

"Val? You two getting along finally?"

"Strangely enough, _I_ am allowed to give her shit for indirectly causing the major f-up at the rig, but not the people here that heard about it. It took a couple of us guys coming to her defence to make me see that she was as much a victim of the situation as me and Ravit." His voice was raw there at the end.

Alviarin chose to pass over it, keep the conversation light. "I'm glad. And you heard from home?"

"Aye. She kept trying, and with those new computers it finally worked. No word from my family yet, but people in Brisbane and Perth, and a couple of places in New Zealand, as well. Seems there's life down under yet."

Alviarin touched his arm. "That's absolutely fantastic news." The fighter's presence was almost humming with positive energy.

"So how's this change of situation treating you?"

"Fairly, so far." They moved toward the fence a little, giving Sam and Zach clear space to play. "Weird, fun, sad, crazy…" her voice gave out.

"How do kids look on a breakdown of their world?"

"I guess they partly mimic what they see in the adults. Which makes this a huge responsibility… The younger ones take it more at face-value. The two girls tend to overthink stuff. They've seen things no child should see, and were old enough to put it into perspective… Luckily Ashley doesn't remember everything about Baltimore, she was so sick. Mhari, Mike's girl, though, she had to leave her mother and sister behind." Now it was her voice that felt as raw as sandpaper.

"Yeah, I heard some of the XO's story." The dark eyes were far away.

"But what have you been doing?"

"Mostly helping the locals – clean up crews, spreading good humour, acting as police."

"Clean up…? You mean houses?"

"Yep."

The day's events plummeted into her consciousness. "There's…"

A tall, broad shouldered dark figure closed the distance.

"May I join you?"

Alviarin felt the thrumming of that voice in her diaphragm.

"Of course!" - "Please!"

The commodore offered the small bottles of local beer that both already knew, motioning them to continue their conversation.

"The Elf was just telling me about…?"

"Well… clean up. You know Tex and I carry white and red cans, we try to check a couple houses on these trips we take with the kids, make things a bit easier for the organized groups. So today, we passed this large building, seemed like maybe a private music hall or other – I'm always on the lookout for libraries or craft stores. Tex stayed outside with the children, and I broke the lock. There were… about fifty people, sitting in what seemed ritualistic suicide. Dead maybe three weeks."

Wolfman groaned. "I can imagine the smell."

"I didn't look around much, didn't want the children to grow curious. But by the moon…"

Chandler laid one hand lightly between her shoulder blades. He could hear the tremor in her voice. "Desperation takes on different forms." Alviarin seemed to lean into his touch. "We've heard of few such incidents. But maybe write down the street for me, these places should be looked after quickly…"

"Secondary sickness. I know. Tex already took the address to the major's people. At least their papers were laid out neatly on a cupboard…"

"Good girl."

The men took a deep sip from their bottles, Alviarin followed suit. In an effort to change the subject, Tom Chandler asked in his usual calm tones: "Botanical garden, Shaw Nature Reserve, what else have you planned?"

The young woman smiled up at him lopsidedly. "Mhari mentioned the Fox Theatre. She'd like to see it, heard about it in school, I think."

"That's in the inner part of town, should be cleared and open for visitors." Wolfman supplied. Tom nodded, amusement playing over the stern features.

"So, how is the president doing?" Wolf wasn't all certain how to address the other man in a situation like this.

"He's doing his best… at the moment it's more getting a picture of the situation, analysing the different messages we get. Everything's delayed, because power is becoming a problem all over the country."

"I'd imagine. It's been what, nine months since the outbreak? It's a wonder so much information is coming in."

"No talk of a real government yet. There's contact with three majors in the cities around, but a few ringleaders that reject Mitcheners's suggestions of rebuilding a central government."

Wolfman and Alviarin exchanged an appraising look. Both understood that Tom would discuss this subject only with extreme caution and absolute neutrality.

A teasing voice called from the door: "Wolfman, you coming? Andrea, the girl and me are going home."

"Be with you in a sec, Tex. - - Elf, Commodore, it was a pleasure. And Alviarin, we've still got that rematch…"

"Oh yes, don't think I'd forget. But we'll see each other for the Osage River Station Project?"

"Couldn't keep me from it. See you then, wolfgirl."

"G'night, Wolfman."

Tom Chandler considered the light tone and easy conversation between the two for a moment, before he was reminded by a slender hand around his arm that the young woman had not once moved from where she stood by his side. Turning fully to her, with both hands he swept the silken strands from the upturned face, staring down into her eyes.

But whatever he would have said got cut short by the voice of his XO from the door. "Zach, time to go. Come on, buddy."

"I have to say good night to Husky!"

A smile forming on the young woman's face she stepped out of the half-embrace. "These five will sleep like stones today."

Tom turned to watch the two boys cuddle with the young animal.

"I'm to say good-bye from Green and Foster, Tom, they left with Tex."

Tom nodded, he'd spoken to the young couple at length before he had joined Alvi and Wolfman.

"Elf, got a moment?"

Her brows rose. "Certainly, Mike." Now that everyone was gone, she felt easier about calling the big man by his first name.

"Mhari's been having nightmares. The girls talked about a dream catcher…" The expression on the usually so stony face was almost comical. "I don't believe in any of that stuff, but… Tom said his kids say they are doing a little better…"

Alviarin bit her lip to keep from smiling outright. Her eyes darted over at Tom in the half-light. "I've been wanting to bring this subject up. It's basically native spiritualism. Would you be ok with … 'an earthy wall decoration' for the children?"

"Do you believe in it?" Chandler stood considering the Elf.

"Believe… I like the idea behind it. Look, come see what Ashley referred to."

With a shrug the two men followed the slender young woman to her room. Of course the two boys followed, and all five were surprised to find the two girls already there.

Mhari and Ashley greeted them with shame-faced surprise that quickly changed to enthusiasm. They had already put out the four handicrafts she had finished last night for inspection.

Feeling slightly disembodied, Alviarin let the girls plead their case, glad they brought up all the disclaimers she had carefully let fall.

"Ok, enough, enough, girls and boys. I'm sold." Mike lifted his hands in the air comically. "Off to bed all of you."

Twenty minutes later the upstairs was quiet.

...

Tom Chandler returned to the open living room, watching Alviarin clean up what the unexpected gathering had left behind with economic movements. Two candles were giving a warm light.

She was so absorbed in thoughts and work that she did not look up, humming under her breath.

With a start Tom realized he knew the melody.

"Wrong country, Miss Rykers."

The young woman startled, blood flooding her face, staring at him until the direction of his barb became clear. Her lips curled.

"The melody of the 'Eternal Father' hymn is superior." She had to laugh at her own tone. Tom gave a measured nod.

"So what's got you so deep in thought?"

"What is the chain of command with all the agencies, CIA, FBI and so on? Have they gotten in contact with Mitchener? Have any of the European ones? I mean if anyone has the resources…"

"Where does that come from?"

"Just wondering… I mean they should be reaching out to him, no? What about these warlords? Any of them maybe rogue agents looking to build a new world order?"

"Alviarin, what the…?" It was the first time he could consciously hear the slightly clipped tones of a native accent.

"Sorry. Don't mind me."

At his frown, the young woman shook her head, clearing her face of any remnants of worries. "No, don't answer that. My brain was spinning."

"It's a fair question, one I can't – in all honesty – answer." He spread his hands before him. While he loved watching the way her face got animated with the questions playing in her head, he meant to give this conversation a different direction. Relaxing his arms at his sides, leaning against the corner in a deceptively leisurely fashion, he took a breath.

"But I need to ask one of myself: It's been almost two weeks. We said we'd ease into it. How are you doing?"

It seemed the four words had taken all tension, all strength out of the young woman. She stood at the breakfast bar, breath faltering, eyes wide. He returned her gaze calmly. She knew what he was asking. A small smile appeared on the open face.

"I'm good."

"I'm not taking advantage of you… leaving the children in your care?"

"No. We get along fine, I did want to try teaching. Everybody's got to pitch in, and to be honest, I don't know who I'd like to trust them with…" she blushed hotly, fumbling with the hem of her plaid shirt.

Before she could pedal back, Tom nodded slightly, pleased by the uncensored words. "I get your meaning."

Staring up at him, something wary in her expression, Alviarin asked: "Are you ok with everything we do? …I do?"

"They'd never speak to me if I took you away from them. Yes, Elf, I'm glad and grateful for everything you do with them. You tell them about me?" He knew she did – both Sam and Ashley inquired after his day with detailed questions that could only have been furnished by the young woman.

"They ask about you." She'd turned shy again. "About the ship, your days now. They miss you…"

Something was left unsaid there, but Tom would get to the bottom of it later.

"They talk to you about what happened… the outbreak, Darien and Baltimore?"

"Some… the long walks help, in my experience. They begin talking between themselves, then one of the boys, or sometimes Ashley pull me into it, and it goes from there…" she shrugged minutely, her voice warm and a little rough, a question in the tone. "Mhari troubles me a little."

He could relate to everything she said, from a commander's viewpoint even more.

"Rachel Scott. You went to see her? How did that go?"

"Well enough, I guess." Alviarin half turned to the side. "She was cool, but I managed to make her smile. I think we parted as almost-friends… and a place to pick up from when we meet again."

"I talked to her a couple times, including earlier today. Glad to hear that."

There was no need to ask after her other work on the ship or with the computer geeks – these things he heard either via the 'crew network', or from the short sentences they usually managed to exchange the one or other evening.

"And yourself, Tom? Sleeping on a mat can't have been the perfect beginning for another day at the office?"

"Oh... I'm not yet used to the soft mattress, so it wasn't too much of a stretch. It was nice to hear them sleeping soundly." He remembered well how the blanket and pillow had smelled of her. He did not want to talk about his day, there were other things… more important things. "Leave the kids for the moment. What about _you_?"

She shrugged, bemused, swallowed visibly. His fingers twitched – he wanted to close the distance, to feel her pulse gaining speed under his touch…

"What are you asking?"

"People giving you trouble?"

"What, because I bewitched you? Or seduced you? Or cause you're such a gentleman?"

Chandler snorted. The play of emotions over the expressive mouth betrayed mostly amusement. She shrugged, tilted her head and bit her lip.

He did not move. "I'll concur to the first point." It came out very dryly, almost sarcastically.

Something in her expression changed – she was a fey creature, this Elf of his. Heat rose through him – he wanted her to know how much it meant to have her waiting for him when he came home. To be welcomed by her warm gaze, the brush of her hand against his, the laughter of his children – relaxed and comfortable.

"I thought you'd insist on the 'gentleman'." Her voice was a subdued, trying to echo his tone. But the undertone was there… the yearning, the shiver. Her face was turned to the side, unreadable in the half-light.

He pushed off the wall. "You know what they say: a gentleman is simply a patient predator."

... ...

He stalked towards her and Alviarin forgot to breathe. She got lost in the rush of blood to her head when he pinned her against the wall. His hands encircled her waist, their controlled strength sending electrical pulses through her. Tom paused as he searched her eyes. Whatever he was looking for, she hoped he found it. His mouth came down on hers with all the destructive strength usually reserved for his fists, and Alviarin gave up all conscious thought. His hands slid lower with singular purpose and he lifted her up against the wall, her legs wrapping around his waist. He kissed her deeply, drawing the same response from her. His hot mouth and slightly rough cheek wandered from the edge of her lips to the side of her throat, lower, lower… found that spot again that had her gasp – half desperate sob, half elated laugh. "Tom…"

"What, Elf?" he hardly lifted his lips from her skin, trailing heat to the little hollow above her breast bone. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, spreading over his shoulders restlessly.

She could not suppress the shiver running over her.

Considerate despite his breath coming as fast as hers, he put her down on the floor. Not trusting her legs to support her, she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around him to feel the play of muscles on his back.

"Alvi." He pushed her against the wall gently, searching her face, a hand against her cheek. She shivered again.

"What is it?"

Feeling his gaze more than she could see his eyes, the words tumbled out. "Everything's so unreal. I feel like I'm see-through, or walking through dense fog. Things are happening too fast, too much, draining me. It scares me how much I crave your touch, to feel you." One hand was pressing his palm even tighter against her face, the other ran over his chest and stomach as if re-discovering every inch of him anew.

Tom caught the slender fingers. She threatened his control. "Elf, you need to stop doing that if you want an answer," he growled.

"I'm losing my sense of self…"

The analytic part of his brain understood what she was talking about, what she was feeling. He could give her comfort, on several levels.

"I couldn't even begin to explain how good it feels to look up across a room and see you standing there. You are real to me." The intensity in his voice seemed to make the air dance between them.

He felt wetness tumbling over the fingers he was cradling against her cheek, felt her hands reach up to pull his face down, felt her salty lips find his hungrily.

There had been more he had meant to say, the analytical part. "Alvi…"

Her fingers found the hem of his t-shirt and slid under it. "Tom…" He could not resist, getting rid of the clothing item with a single pull.

She leaned against the wall, fighting with the buttons on her plaid shirt. He helped, his fingers only marginally steadier than hers.

"What you are feeling…" he got distracted by the patterns she traced over his bare skin. Two fingers touched his lips. She shrugged out of the shirt, and effortlessly pulled the thin undershirt over her head. Tom reached for her waist. He could feel the heat radiating from her body. Her warm, spicy scent rose, a heady combination.

"Touch me." One step, and there was barely a hairs breath between them. She guided his hand upwards until it cupped her bare breast. "Make me feel real."

With a growl, the Commodore gave up any thought of rational conversation.

…

"I wake up in the night wanting you – your lips on mine, your arms around me…"

"One of us sleeps in the wrong place."

He almost choked on a soundless laugh, still breathless.

….

"Falling for someone is a stupid phrase."

"Oh?"

"Andrea said I fell for you."

"And?"

"I was half drunk. I answered that I walked into it eyes wide open."

Tom could not quite pinpoint the emotion rushing through him. He was not ready to explore the subject more deeply, so he rolled on top of her, making her gasp.

"Close your eyes now…"

…

"Why did you go to Sam's room, last night?"

"It would have felt like an intrusion…"

He leaned on one elbow, startling both with the suddenness of his move. "You talk to the children about Darien, but won't enter my room for her ghost?"

Now she had to chuckle with the mocking incredulity in his voice. "Treading carefully again, Miss Rykers?"

"Ah, but Tom, it's different! She's their mum – there's no question of replacing her, just trying to be there for them!"

"Aha."

She hit a gentle fist against his chest. "Stop making fun of me. We both know I'm not replacing your wife, but… I can't enter a room which by all rights would have been hers without … I don't know… a proper invitation!"

Shaking with laughter, Chandler buried his face in the hollow underneath her ear. "You called Mike a conundrum."

Helplessly laughing now, too, Alviarin gave up, threading her fingers through his hair. She loved making this strong, stoic leader divulge his playful, humorous side. She loved surprising laughter out of him. But even more she loved feeling him fall asleep half draped over her, his arm tightly, almost proprietorially around her waist, one leg over her thigh. This was home.


	39. Chapter 39

AN: Hello all, I'm back. This takes the story firmly AU and away from the ongoing seasons. feels a bit more natural to me. Feedback much, much, much appreciated, as always. Love all the new followers and "favouriters" - this is high praise indeed for a newbie. (Though i don't feel that new any more. chapter 40 coming up!)

„You wanted an engineer, Ryan. I got you one."

„And a female one, to boot. What are her credentials?"

„She fixed the Bagnel dam power station."

„She's from the navy camp? Are you crazy?"

Alviarin could hear a shuffle. She hoped her captor would get a good beating out of this. O'Connor's sightless eyes followed her.

„Stop, mate, listen! We were careful. No traces, nobody saw us. Only thing they'll ever find, if they do, is a body, and we dropped that into the ravine. They're gonna have a hard time even figuring out where they lost her."

Ah, she'd made it as hard for them as she could. She'd emptied her pockets, but there had been precious little of use in them. She'd tried to unravel the seam of her shirt, but with her hands bound so tightly, she'd lost all feeling in her fingers. After the third attempt, he had noticed what she was doing. That had been the end of it. Her heart sank with the realization, and the self-assuredness of the man's words.

They both had cultured voices. Her abduction and O'Connor's killing had been scarily clean and well-planned. No time lost, and she'd been brought a long way already. The drop in temperature was noticable. _Keep listening,_ she reminded herself tiredly.

"Still, that was reckless. We don't know their range and equipment, but we do know their persistence."

"So? Spread them thin. Make them show their cards."

 _A third voice. Cruel, thin, high, sarcastic._

"I knew you'd approve. Too aggressive, Gordon. They haven't proven a threat to us. We don't want them to think of us as a threat… yet." Ryan said, patiently. At least she had one name. "We'll make the best of it. You're dismissed for the moment."

 _Seriously? Military speak?_

"Both." Ryan asserted, when only the one pair of boots moved.

Her captor moved with deceptive laziness, she remembered. His steps, even with the heavy footwear, were smooth. When the other man moved after a long moment of resistance, the hazy picture his voice had given her changed. His steps reverberated through the wooden floor she was sitting on.

For a long moment there was silence, then the third set of steps closed in on her.

"Well, let's see what we've got here." His voice was light, almost musical. His hands on her throat, pulling the cloth from her head, were warm and dry.

Alviarin kept her eyes closed. Ryan was lifting her to her feet and in the same motion dumped her not un-gently on a chair. He settled against the border of a table half opposite of her, and waited.

The young woman took her time, adjusting to the light. Trying – though she did not have to try too hard - for a baffled look, she glanced around the room. She knew from walking in that she was on the ground floor of a pretty regular house, half a story up from the ground, through a kitchen (or similarly glass, tile and metal covered surfaces). It seemed a fair approximation of a living room. Sparsely furnished, a sofa against the inner wall, opposite the window, a table and a few chairs, a computerscreen in the corner. Her backpack sat there, too. The blinds were drawn.

This Ryan was tall, muscular but slender. Dark, outgrown curls framed a rather handsome face with pronounced cheekbones and very light eyes that would probably change color with the surroundings or lighting. His clothes were clean and worn, practical and sensible, not for show. He gazed at her calmly, waiting for her to get her bearings. There was mockery in his expression, but no immediate threat or even ostentatious wish to intimidate.

"Good afternoon." His smile was winning.

She stared at him for a long moment, trying to read him, unwilling to answer. It was childish, but she hated to be pushed around.

"Ah, a quiet one. Miss, I hope this auspicious meeting can be alleviated by a proper introduction. I hope my colleague did not treat you too badly."

O'Connor's face rose before her eyes. "He killed my friend." Threw the lifeless body down over the edge…

"Which is most regrettable. I am afraid it wasn't to be helped. We need only you."

"Then take only me. His death was needless."

"From your perspective, Miss…"

No, she refused to be baited into revealing a name, any name.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Ryan Montgomery."

"Where am I?"

"I am afraid that information I will keep to myself for the time being. Let's be civil. What is your name?"

Civil? Ryan Montgomery scared her. "Francie Miller."

"Well, Francie." His eyebrows rose in the most charismatic way, expressing his amusement. "My man tells me you are an engineer."

"The guy you got killed, he was the real one. I was learning." She lied calmly.

Montgomery placed his hands on the table beside him and smiled. "I don't believe you. I think you are the engineer. Anyway, we will see about your abilities."

"What am I doing here?"

"As I already said, Francie Miller, we need an engineer. To get a pretty one is a bonus."

"You could have asked for help."

"And paid with who knows what. No. Understand this, woman, and understand it well. This is a new world, and I intend to carve my place in it. Those with me are welcome, those who would impose their picture of how things should work on me have to leave."

Cold ran down Alviarin's back. "Abducting people and forcing them to work for you isn't very conductive to a positive configuration." Why was he telling her all this?

"Ask any planning officer. To build a settlement from scratch, you take one likely individual from each necessary profession, provide them with resources, put them in a likely spot and…" he paused dramatically, winking at her. "… make sure they don't run off. By whatever means necessary. Be it their immediate family, be it food and shelter, be it force."

Well, it probably did not matter how much of her horror he could read. He was doing his best to intimidate her. Let him see her intimidated.

"I won't be much use if my hands are swollen like sausages."

"That is probably true. But Miss, make no mistake. There's no way out. And things can turn ugly very quickly if you don't understand that."

She bit her lip as if to keep it from shaking. He'd have to prove his arrogance was earned. "I think I understand."

"I'm not sure I believe you. But you do have a point about your hands." He walked around her and started working on her bound wrists.

His breath was hot against her throat, his hair touched her bare shoulder. Way closer than necessary. Alviarin's fear rose into a completely different direction. She refused to be paralyzed by the memories and possibilities drowning her. Leaning sharply away from his closeness, she spat: "I'll keep the bonds."

Montgomery laughed. "Some spunk after all." The clack of a blade opening startled the young woman, but he used it only to cleanly cut through the rope. "Come, let me show you around."

He grabbed her backpack and handed it to her. It was lighter – they had searched it.

…..

…..

As soon as the connection was established and Commodore Tom Chandler could see Wolfman Taylor's face, he knew that something was wrong.

„Captain, I'm afraid I've got bad news."

Chandler felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. For the Australian to mix up the already old title…

"Forgive me, Commodore." Wolfman corrected himself absentmindedly.

"What is it?"

"It's Miss Rykers and O'Connor. Seems we lost them."

"Lost?"

"Sir, they are missing. Gone. They reported in from a small trip repairing a fuse box and phone router at a private home. They should have been with us within twenty minutes. They never arrived."

"How long ago was this?"

"Four hours, sir. We've been searching the area ever since."

"The station?"

"Working perfectly, Sir. No troubles."

"The civilians they helped?"

"Say they left the house in good spirits. Sir, I ask permission to withdraw some of the station's guards to help with the search."

Chandler pursed his lips. He knew what Mitchener's answer would be. "The power station is first priority." He let the information sink in for a moment, trying to envision the situation. He allowed himself a personal interjection. "They can't have vanished, Wolfman. You know Miss Rykers." The area wasn't that large. The woman would need a cogent reason to leave a path. "Don't waste resources, but keep up the search. Spread the perimeter. You know…" he had to clear his throat. Alvi had disappeared?

"Sir." The handsome face framed by the dark hair and beard was trying hard to hide his inner conflict. "Maybe you could send us some bodies?" He too dared a personal note.

"I'll see what could be spared. If you hear nothing from me, report back in two hours."

"Aye, Sir."

They signed off.

Chandler stepped out of the communications room onto the corridor. Bless the woman – Kara Green was walking toward him.

"Kara."

"Sir?"

…

Two hours later, Mitchener, his secretary and trusted friend Graham Medina and Kara had joined him waiting for a fresh report. Chandler was not overly worried at this point. He could offer Green's team reinforcements, but he expected the whole thing to be cleared up. Some emergency or other. Alvi's bleedin' heart, as Tex would put it. Nonetheless, his heart beat in his ears and he almost startled as badly as the young woman beside him when the beep told them of the incoming call.

"Wolfman. What news?"

The video came online. It was Green himself.

"Commodore. I'm afraid it's bad news. We found O'Connor. He's dead."

Things simply could not turn out for the better for once, could they now. Chandler waited for the blond bear to go on.

"We found him on the bottom of a ravine. And sir, he's been shot, and then pushed down. Close range, probably a silencer used, or somebody would have heard the shot."

Chandler exchanged a glance with his former weapons officer.

"Sir, it was pure chance, or better said due to the superior abilities of Wolfman Taylor that we found the spot from where he was pushed. The traces have been obliterated most cunningly. Couldn't have done it better myself, Sir. Sorry to say, Sir, we could not follow a trail. We found the spot where the… perpetrators… lay in wait for O'Connor and Rykers. From there it's a fairly direct trajectory to the border where O'Connor was thrown off. No trace whatsoever of Al… of Miss Rykers, Sir."

"You're certain there's no connection to the civilians?" Mitchener asked into the resulting silence.

"Yes, Mr. President. We're keeping an eye on them anyway." Green's voice was heavy at the affirmative.

Kara could not restrain herself. She asked Chandler's permission with a glance and asked: "Maybe they stumbled onto something? Maybe Alvi was taken away by car?"

A car would leave tracks. Tom Chandler stared at the map of the area that was spread on the table in front of them.

"We're still searching, Sir, Mr. President."

Chandler shook his head. No use telling the man how to do his job. Green and Wolfman together were a reliable team.

"I'll see what resources can be sent to your aide, gentlemen, but I have to advise you that whatever help we send will take at least six hours." Mitchener was frowning at the screen.

"Understood, Mr. President. Thank you."

After signing off, Tom Chandler turned to his president. "Sir…"

Mitchener held up a hand. "Say nothing, Commodore. This is personal for all of us."

…

"Sir." Kara was waiting for him as he was leaving the ongoing discussion in the command room. It had been almost two hours.

"Kara. News?"

"Yes. They called ten minutes ago. Two of Jeter's young men found the husky pup. Seems unhurt, but would not let anybody touch him. The important part is, the dog led the men straight through the woods to an asphalt road. There were a few drops of motor oil or some equivalent on the floor, even barely visible tire tracks. The trail is long cold, but they found a trail. Leading north."

When the commodore didn't answer at once, the young woman hesitantly continued. "They found her staff, and … two things, maybe completely unrelated. But…"

"Go on."

"Maybe you can confirm one of them as Alviarin's. Do you by any chance know if she carried dried nuts… but in the shell?"

"Hazelnuts. Three small, smooth hazelnuts." Tom Chandler drawled the words slowly.

"What for, Sir?"

"Haptic exercises."

"To calm her down? Like a Bhuddist's pearls."

"Something like that. Why?"

Kara's face cleared a fraction. "The husky found them, one by one, plus an almost dry tissue." Her eyes light up.

Even Chandler's downcast mood lifted. "Alvi was emptying her pockets." He breathed easier. There was hope.

"I told Danny the same thing, now I can confirm it for them. At least we know she's alive."

"Aye." He frowned. "How did they propose to proceed?"

Kara glanced aside. "They did not. I promised we would get back to them. For the time being, they are packing up as they had planned, leaving the power station under guard. They've attracted quite a lot of locals who would go to either Springfield or St. Louis, now that both towns have access to electricity. Start building again."

"That's as expected, and good news. Thank you, Mrs. Green, I'll inform the president."


	40. Chapter 40

It had been a week. Alviarin sat on the roof of the little house she shared with the two families and surveyed the area. Knees drawn up to her chest she rested her chin on them. It was a neat little village in the middle of dense forest. Too neat. And what lay underground… A whole week? What would Tom think by now? Would they still be searching? Had they found anything? Had these guys here left any kind of trace?

…

 _"_ _It's not too bad here, as long as we work hard and don't ask too many questions. There's food and water and clothes, and we have a doctor. It will just take some getting used to."_

 _"_ _Has nobody wanted to leave?" Alviarin could not fully understand the apparent apathy of the woman._

 _"_ _One woman they brought back, and believe me, she's not going to try again." Siobhan shivered, eyes haunted. "And another guy…" she shrugged, face blank again. "There was an explosion, somewhere out there. They only brought back his shoe… with the foot still in it."_

Landmines.

 _…_

Only today the three men that were also working _down there_ had opened up a little. Three heavily tattooed, bearded leather-faced individuals – the cliché was so heavy there she had almost laughed. They had been abrasive and monosyllabic. They all had to work long hours. Today the one she thought of as Eagle-guy for the raptor that covered his heavily muscled shoulders, he had stumbled from fatigue, and would have crashed into the open crater. Only after she had realized that she herself escaped a sharp end only by a few centimeters. But it was worth it.

The other two guys had come to quickly, and surveyed the scene with hooded eyes. "That was a very quick move, Miss. Thank you."

Both she and Eagle-guy were helped to their feet.

"You're welcome." It was appalling how glad she was for the friendly words, for the grumpy, but suddenly warmer glances. She tried a wobbly smile, and got a clap on the shoulder as response. But when she opened her mouth, she was hushed silent by two fingers to bearded lips, while the third man said gruffly. "Half an hour left. Let's get back to work."

The one she had secretly pegged as the leader of the group, the one with the fiercest stare, happened to work closer to her, and in between the usual grunts and remarks, showed her a small, unobtrusive button. Gesturing to mouth and ears, his eyes tried hard to convey something.

Alvi smiled a little in memory. It had taken her an embarrassingly long time to realize what he was doing. Automatically her left hand came up in the military sign for 'bug.'

Fierce guy nodded, his eyes narrowing. 'Navy' she motioned at herself. Thank god she had picked up a few of the motions from Wolfman and Green and the others.

 _Bugs all around down here._

Then he picked up a bottle of machine oil, looked her right in the eye and sprayed her shirt with it. Smirking right back at him, she said: "Ah damn, gonna have to wash that."

He grunted appreciatively.

….

Half an hour later she met fierce guy and eagle guy at what amounted to a washing saloon. Rows of dysfunctional washers and dryers, and rows of large sinks against one wall. Water running, both rubbing soap into fabric, the fierce brown eyes met hers.

"Name's Walther Medina. That's Chris. Don't tell me yours, I'll keep calling you Francie. Where you from?"

"I was taken somewhere near Springfield. Where are we?"

"Springfield? That fits. We got taken just south of Des Moines. We figured we be somewhere north of Davenport."

"How long have you been here?"

"Close to four months."

Her eyes must have widened. "There's three of you…"

A tall figure appeared in the door to the room.

"What are you doing with my man, Missy?" The door slammed shut.

Walther grinned fiercely, straightening. "Four. Here's your reason. Madison, this is Francie. She's the engineer."

Alviarin felt an immediate, strong liking for the woman. Tall, dark skinned, broad-shouldered and lean, she carried herself with nonchalant strength and an air of sarcasm. The young woman nodded at her, wanting to let go of all restraint.

"Good to meet you."

"I doubt you mean that. The way you were brought in…"

"People know about that?" She could not say why the realization disturbed her.

"Yes. They either don't care, are scared, or support Lord Monty's ideas."

"You're very open with a stranger."

"As I said… the way you were brought in." The tall woman smiled a little, transforming her face into a kind, humorous expression.

"How did you come…" But a raised hand interrupted the younger woman

"You've already spent too much time in here. Get going, I'll ask you to help with cleanup after dinner."

Chris was finishing with his shirt, too.

Alvi nodded at them, grabbed her shirt and the bar of soap and left.

…

After dinner, consisting of a stew of some kind and some oats, the deep voice rang out. "She's been here for a whole week. Let her pull her weight here, too."

So Ryan's thug, the guy with the high, nasal voice had ordered Alviarin shortly to help with the dishes. She had shrugged and complied. She'd seen what happened to people who did not – and she did not want to be touched by the man.

The beginning of the conversation over the dishwashing still had the girl smiling.

"I'll be the jealous shrew. I'll warn you, I can be mean."

Alviarin had looked at her with a worried expression for the watching eyes, and answered with a minute wink. "I can take it."

"Though take care, you're no actress. Now. How did they find you? How could they know you're an engineer?"

"I was working on the Bagnell dam station."

"Ah, and the solar field before that. The navy crew made waves."

"Aye."

"But wait, then that's Springfield, Missouri. That's way off grid from where we thought we were." The older woman frowned into the pot she was scrubbing.

"How were you taken?"

"Ah, long story." She glanced around quickly, reassuring herself. "We were in Colorado, bound to drive our bikes to the east coast, when the sickness broke out. Tried to hole up for the time being. Then, the broadcast came of this navy ship, the _Nathan James._ A few mates of ours broke off to meet the ship in Vicksburg and race toward Chesapeake, east coast again, where wives and girlfriend were supposed to be waiting for us. We kept in contact, and when they told us of meeting up with some sick families, and how this miraculous airborne cure worked, we started out, too. Only…" she grimaced.

Alviarin watched the strong, blunt fingers tighten. "One of you fell sick?"

"Aye. All four of us. I was worst off. So… south of Des Moines, Walt met with these guys, who promised to take care of me, and of them. Only we'd have to let them cover our eyes, leave the bikes, and promise to work for it. And so on."

"I can imagine. Were you drugged?"

"No. Seven hour drive, or a bit more, Al thinks. Ryan held up his part of the bargain, and now we can't leave. He's got Walt, Al and Chris working down there – with you, and me on the fields and with the lifestock. We're playing nice, but you have to watch hard whom you trust."

"What about the fence?"

"That's for demonstration. Behind the fence is hunting ground. Don't let Gordon find you there."

"That's the thug? Buzz cut?"

"You're good, girl. Whoever goes behind the fence and is caught, is his. And I mean in the worse sense you can imagine."

Alviarin stilled. "The red-head, who tried to escape?"

The doe eyes met hers in warning and fear. "Yes. Plus, there are landmines around."

"I heard that too. What is this place?"

"You tell me, you've seen what's down there."

The young woman shrugged, trying to prolong the drying of the plates. "Wild guess, I'd say some kind of secret government testing or training ground."

"Walther said the same. Said he saw weaponry in those tunnels that are yet collapsed."

No excuse left, the young woman dried her hands elaborately. "Why did Ryan put the three men down there?"

"They're mechanics, and good at it. Had a Bike shop back home. Get to repair Ryan's cars and other machinery, too. Between us, Walther trained as a smith."

Alviarin grimaced. Since the place was bugged, there was no danger in leaving the three men together. "And they're strong and healthy. This Ryan guy…"

She was interrupted by a rough shove from her companion. "Get going already."

"Hey, no need to be so harsh, Madison." A very soft, almost artificial voice. It belonged to a young girl, barely twenty by her looks.  
Alviarin hunched her shoulders and turned around, aiming for a grateful smile. She knew the girl. "Hi, Rosie." This was Ryan's girlfriend.

"Poor Francie, did Madison give you a hard time?"

"No, it's ok. I can do the work."

"I'll see what I can do about it. You must be tired after the long work day. No need to put you to kitchen duties afterwards. Come." She laid a soft arm around Alviarin's shoulders and led her away. "I'll walk you home."

…..

Now Rosie was another factor. The girl was lovely, in a slightly off way. She had something calculating about her, something cold lurking in the large, clear eyes. She had already confided in Alviarin that she had been a dancer in Little Rock in a luxurious nightclub. Alvi's awkward compliments and gratefulness on the way home had pleased the girl immensely, she was almost preening by the time they said good night.

Alviarin shared the house with two families. On the ground floor was a couple Gina and Oliver with twins of about five years, who seemed completely relaxed and happy with their life in the…. what was it, enclave? The second floor was occupied by scared, fey blond Shiobhan of maybe Alvi's age with a toddler and her husband Gregory, who moved with a calm strength and assured containment that reminded the young woman of Burke.

Ah, no thoughts of home, she reminded herself.

The arrangement suited her well enough. She had been given what amounted to a bachelor suite under the roof, with her own bathroom and toilet. The whole village ran only on cold water. Part of why she was here… There were two large windows, and one small one that opened onto a kind of chimney. Which could be used to climb up to the roof almost unseen. It had quickly become her favorite spot to sort through impressions and think. And plan.

So. Ryan Montgomery was the boss here. She did not know all the names yet, but she could easily point out the men with him, and those new or foreign to his … well, ideology. Gregory was one of his men, as was the buzz-cut – Gordon. The couple on the ground floor must have bought into Ryan's crap, or been with him from the start. Oliver was an IT guy, from his glasses to the laptop he carried home with him every night. Shiobhan was a nurse, and Gina seemed to be some kind of logistics person. Alviarin had taken a keen dislike against the small, buxom woman, whose hair had been bleached almost white and now grew in a mousy brown. She was constantly talking.

The man who had brought her to this place had left again… by car. If this were a former government facility, and Ryan's men former agents of some kind, they'd have access to resources… gas, oil, metals, maybe generators.

The place was large enough to house anything from eight hundred to a thousand people. From up here it was obvious that the compound was much larger than she had originally expected. There must be fields around, and since they were eating fairly well – even meat… might this be some kind of experimental self-sufficiency place? They had eaten fish two days ago. Fish for this many people… Fish… where in the southern US could you find fresh fish in such quantities, even if the populations had been untouched for almost a year?

She'd have to stick to Rosie. Her story, and how she came to be attached to Ryan might be interesting. Last she had heard, Little Rock had been pretty much wiped out. Extreme weather conditions had hit the city just after the plague had begun to spread…

Ryan. Her mind shied away from considering her impression of the handsome man. He had the charisma to be a leader, but there was a foul spot at the core of the apple. What was it her uncle used to say? _Most societies, irrelevant of their final achievement, are flawed in their beginnings. Think of the romans. So much good came from their governmental and judicial structures, but how much blood was spent?_

Ryan might be trying to build something good, even admirable here, but the means were flawed, were rotten. She shuddered.

 _"_ _Francie, you might think that as an engineer, you are invaluable here. And it's true, you are very, very valuable to this society. To me personally. But consider this… what does an engineer really need for his work." He had smiled at her, disorienting in his charm. "I would hate to have to resort to medieval measures."_

She had ducked her head, not trusting her expression. But a knuckle under her chin had forced her face upward.

 _"_ _Now, I don't fully believe this gentle quiet soul routine you've got going. I think you are much smarter than you want me to believe. Put that brain to good use, Francie. And let me know anything you need to finish the switch board. Anything at all. We will conjure it for you. That's how important your work is to us."_

The switch board he was talking about was at the moment still a blackened ruin of the controlling feature connecting the solar panels on the roofs of all of the buildings to the electrical cables and splices that would power not only the village amenities, but also the underground facilities. Which were the last thing to consider.

Of course she had heard stories of seemingly endless underground passages, cool server rooms, weapons storage systems, and resources for all kinds of disasters. This one had suffered a rather strategically destructive explosion. The part she, Walther, Al and Chris were working on must have been the control room, where not only the whole electrical power was brought together and then distributed, but from where all those gadgets, door locks, and lights were operated. The security system must have shut down when the control malfunctioned, leaving Ryan and his crew with a whole wall of molten metal and plastic, a deep crater filled with steel bolts and cable ends, two half-collapsed tunnels and a few closed titanium doors.

There would be a lot of processor analysis and reprogramming involved in the repair, not to forget the fried solar panel connections. Doable, she was certain, but the time-frame? And she had not done much processor work for the past years…

She had already asked Ryan for specific tools, and he had promised to do his best.

Alviarin felt fatigue creeping up her limbs. It was hard to keep the desperation away when she was locked deep underground for the whole day, and nobody to talk to without the constant alert watcher inside. For she was watched every step on the surface, and her work inspected irregularly. Clearly Ryan had enough security that his first priority now was the powering of the amenities – warm water, basic electricity for the houses. He had a few small generators running, probably for the computers, she surmised.

The young woman wrapped her arms around her. It was cold here, much colder than in Springfield. Where was she? The horizon and ground might suggest mountains, but nothing she could pinpoint. It was what, November? It smelled of snow! What had they drugged her with? How far had she been taken? She barely remembered a few impressions of a car drive, on even, straight roads…

Angrily she wiped her burning eyes, slid to the edge of the roof and handed herself down through her window. She needed sleep.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Tom stood in the middle of Alviarin's room on the ground floor, leaning one leg against her bed. If he concentrated very hard, the room still very faintly smelled of her, that sweet, warm, slightly spicy scent. It had been ten days. Ten full days, and they were none the wiser where the young woman was. Telling the children that she was still lost, that there was no trail whatsoever. He was sleeping badly, even though he had taken to falling asleep in her bed.

At first they had expected ransom demands. He was still hoping for any sign of an antagonist. The radios had run hot, but the coverage was still patchy.

Why had she been taken, why O'Connor disposed of so coldly? Chandler had discussed this with Mike at length. It was known that the navy had fixed the solar field at Springfield, and the power station at Bagnell Dam. Was someone hoping for her aid in repairing something? If so, what exactly? It would have been easy to simply ask for aid, as a lot of civilians had done.

Was she taken as a hit against himself, to hinder the new president and his command at forming a new government? Mitchener had brought the subject up. Of course this was a possibility, but then why had no contact been made? No ultimatum, no demands, it all came back to 'no contact'.

O'Connor worried Chandler the most. The young man had been a decent marine, decent help for Andrea Garnett and Alviarin, but posed no threat that he could see. Rather, he would be a strong young body to bargain with. To have him killed in cold blood - did they mean to isolate the woman? Why?

None of the ideas were new, none of the thoughts fresh. They had been looking at the situation from all different angles, sorted through all kinds of transmissions. Valerie had put word out on her network and come back with loads of results, but none of them lead anywhere.

"Dad?" It was Ashley.

"Sweetheart."

"What are you doing?" She shyly reached for his hand.

"Thinking." Rubbing her shoulder, he sighed. "Come. Time for bed. Where's your brother?"

"He's brushing his teeth. Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"We miss her, too."

"I know. We'll get her back."

…

It was Valerie who pulled him aside once he was back in the office the next day.

"Any news, Miss Raymond?"

"No, sorry. But Professor Lacroix is asking for you, urgently, via radio."

"Any idea why?"

"I'm afraid it's about Alvi,. They had their biweekly meetings, and he knows she's been due back from Bagnell for a week now."

"Stall him." Chandler did not want to discuss what had happened with a foreigner, ally though he might be.

"I already did… he won't take it much longer. Couldn't they maybe help?"

"How? They've got no copters to spare and are busy with securing their own." He shook his head impatiently. Though it was true, they were wider spread already, and were covering ground nicely with their radio communication relays. Might be worth considering. He knew he was grasping at straws by now.

"I'll talk to him tonight."

….

"We've had a message from Dr. Scott, Commodore."

"Go on."

"She's doing quite well, but can not spare the 'copter for the next month or so. Distribution of the cure and visits to blocked villages. She'll send it back if it's of utmost importance, but as you said…"

"I remember what I said." There was no use occupying a helo with a blind search. The black abyss of despair inched closer again.

….

….

"Everyone, listen. Rosie is feeling a bit under the weather, so we need someone to jump in here. We've stumbled onto a load of nice, hard, juicy onions. Any ideas what to cook for dinner? No meat today, I'm afraid. Just onions."

It was Gina, the blond woman, who was shouting through the empty space between the houses. Grumbles could be heard. Just onions promised a one-sided dinner.

"Come on, people, ideas!"

Alviarin would have kept silent – the less she interacted with the woman the better. Even watching her with her children made the young woman feel annoyed. But then she noticed Ryan watching the scene from an open door, half hidden. Some instinct nudged her, and she stood up. She was itching for a chance for new impressions, information of any kind, anyway. Anything to be distracted from thoughts of _down under._

"Do we have bread?"

"We always have bread, stupid. We've got our own bakery. We've got salt and spices."

Right. Don't roll your eyes. "White Wine?"

"That's quite the demand, Francie."

Ryan was stepping out of the door, smiling genially. Alviarin fought against exasperation.

"To cook with." She held his gaze levelly as he stalked towards here.

"Onions and wine? Should we let the engineer into the kitchen?"

Laughter could be heard.

Alvi tilted her head. "Never been to France, have you?"

He held up his hands in a gesture of good-natured capitulation. "Right, right, explain."

…

He stayed near her for the whole time she spent directing and preparing the 'post-apocalyptic' version of the French onion soup. Unable to not notice his intense, almost greedy gaze, she started up a careful conversation.

"Where does the bakery get the flour from?"

"Poor girl, we did not properly show you around the first time, did we? We've got some fields, and that means quite some stored grains. And a mill."

"A grist mill?" That meant a river nearby. Explanation for the fish. "Aiming for self-sufficiency?"

"Got it in one, Francie." While he had frowned at her quick arrival at the grist mill, there was a hint of honest thoughtfulness in his answer.

"That's an admirable goal," she answered honestly in turn. Alvi even managed to meet the man's eyes openly for a moment. Surprise woke in him.

Slowly he came a step closer. "That, I think, was the first positive remark I heard from you."

Alviarin shrugged. Two could play this game. "What did you expect? You killed my friend and abducted me."

"First of all, _I_ did not kill him. I said I was sorry. My man tends to act a bit irrationally."

 _God, how trite could you get._ But no, this was not the way to speak to him.

"Why me? There must be more engineers around. Some that would probably have come willingly."

"Oh, I hope that in time you will change your mind about the unwillingness. As for the other thing…" he leaned over her, tasting the soup; so close that she stepped back. She could not abide his touch. Montgomery smirked.

"As for the other thing… you're the one who fixed the solar field near Springfield. We've got a solar system here, too. I need these fixed before the real winter sets in. And… I made a wise choice."

It was true. It had taken her ten days, but they'd have warm water and basic electricity as long as there was no prolonged period of heavy clouds.

Asking where he had gotten the information about Springfield was useless. It had been in any video and radio message that Mitchener had given the order to restore Bagnel Dam, the solar field, and Osage power station for good measure. And she and O'Connor had been in so many private homes fixing minor problems that most anyone could have pointed them out. Funny only that no names had been relayed. Or he was playing along with her 'Francie Miller', for his own reasons.

"Speaking of the solar panels…" Alvi dared – no risk no reward.

"Ah, she's already asking for a reward." But he sounded quite willing to listen.

Just don't let him know how much this meant to her. "Working underground… I'm a wood and mountain person. Give me a guard, I don't care, but let me walk around an hour or two every day." The three mechanics got as much leeway.

"Ah." Ryan said it slowly, watching her closely. Still amiable though.

He liked to unsettle her, the young woman thought to herself. So let him see her unsettled. She bit her lip. _Careful, you're no actress._

His eyes rested on her mouth. "I'll think it over."

Damn. Either she had overdone it, or… Panic threatened to engulf her.

"Is Rosie sick?"

"Nothing serious, I'm sure."

The moment passed, Alviarin breathed easier.

"Ah, there you are, darling."

This time Alviarin had known the young woman was approaching. They weren't alone in the kitchen. She greeted the blond dancer with a smile, relieved at the interruption. "Rosie. People said you are unwell?"

Something was off about the girl's smile. "Just cramps. It's nothing. So you're cooking?"

"Doing my best. I would appreciate your opinion, though." Wasn't she miss diplomacy tonight? She could envision Mike Slattery's smirk, and the ever so slight twitch of Tom's cheek.

Montgomery was watching them with hooded eyes.

"It's rather good," said the girl, putting down a spoon disinterestedly. "Say, I've been wanting to ask you something. You're always down there…" a pout of reproach.

Alvi shrugged. "Work to be done. I bet you like hot showers, don't you?"

Rosie chuckled, leaning sinuously into the man at her side. "True. Now you've fixed this, now we have electricity - we can access the internet, too?"

Alviarin bit on her tongue to keep a straight face. "I'm afraid that's quite out of my hand." Oh, but the possibilities here, if Ryan were to leave…

"Hm." She had such a childish face, if the man at her side had not grasped her behind proprietarily, she might have passed for fifteen. But the way she wiggled into his embrace half unconsciously made Alviarin slightly uncomfortable.

"Where you were… before… did you have electricity? Internet? Phones? Were there people?"

All hairs no the back of her neck rising, the young woman glanced at Montgomery. Who quickly wiped an expression of alarm from his face and summoned exasperation mixed with fondness with some difficulty. He gave 'Francie' a sharp, warning glance. Alviarin shrugged slightly.

"Rosie, the internet is a network of servers and databanks. Which use a lot of electricity, not only to run, but also to uphold, keep cool, and so on. Most of anything is gone. Some servers survived quite long, and some could be shut down to a lower maintenance level and still work. So… it's a bit of a hit and miss situation."

The dancer waved off her explanation discontentedly. "Too bad. I was hoping for a miracle. I miss talking to my friends. To Julie, mostly, and Carol, and Louise…"

Her voice was wistful.

"All dancers like you?"

Ryan twitched at her words.

"Yes. We were beautiful together. All different shades, all moving together…"

"Rosie, what do you say, let's grab two bowls of soup and head home." His voice was gentle and melodic, soothing.

Like a child, the young woman nodded. "Sure. I like the soup."

Alviarin managed a friendly good-bye, but could not help staring after the pair. Ryan turned at the door and sent a hard glance back at her.

That girl was bat-shit crazy.

 _Val, telling her about Tom's impassioned, sarcastic reproach on the oil rig. Andy._

 _'_ _Yes, Andy liked it, too.' The deep voice._

….

Later that evening, Alviarin sat on her roof spot, blanket around her shoulders.

So. Rosie, point one. Ryan Montgomery, point two.

The mechanics close to a break-through. She herself not certain how to proceed down in the 'pit'. She needed to find a possibility to look around, figure out where she was. Or how to get word to Tom. But what to tell him? They could not trace radio-transmissions, most towers were down still.

Next step, either loose or distract those watching eyes and steal… oh, she did not know what. She had not seen anything except for Oliver's laptop that could possibly aid her. A phone – tricky. A radio – one could be guessed at in that flat where Ryan first pulled the hood from her eyes. Rather unimaginable, to get in there.

Besides… there was Ryan. The way he looked at her…

If she was forced to fight him off – one, would she manage to? He was a spy of some kind or other. And two – if she let on that she could handle herself, that would be the end of any kind of freedom.

For the first time since she was taken, she wiped insistent tears from her face. She was not defenseless. Her fingers reached up and pulled the little wooden stick out of her braid. She cradled the slender needle in her hands, relishing the smooth feeling of the intricate, celtic carving on its ornamental top. And found the tiny clasp. _Oh Tom._

 _…_ _._

 _"_ _I hate to let you go."_

 _"_ _Even with a guard of seven, and then Jeter's boys?"_

 _He'd kissed her. "I know you can look out for yourself."_

 _That was quite a concession from her tall, quiet, stoic captain. She'd kissed him back._

 _"_ _I've got something for you." He'd presented her with something slender and longish wrapped in a piece of cloth._

 _"_ _It's absolutely marvelous, Tom. I—Oh!" She'd found the clasp, the spring, and suddenly held a slim blade in her hand. She knew her face was telling him how amazed she was. "The workmanship of this!"_

 _"_ _I thought you would appreciate it." He'd gently taken it from her grasp, reached around her to lift her braid into a figure eight at the back of her head and clumsily pushed the stick through it. Promptly it fell down her back again. They both chuckled, Alviarin warm and save within the enclosure of his arms._

 _"_ _There's a trick to it?"_

 _She'd picked the slender wood from her hair. "I'll show you some other time." A tuck, a shake of her head, and her hair fell free. She knew how he loved her hair._

 _His hands came up to burrow against her scalp, strong, calloused, warm._

 _He had stared into her eyes for the whole time they made love, taking as much as he was giving, prolonging the climb. There was nothing more liberating and intoxicating than to have those blue eyes telling her what he felt. How he enjoyed her. And that he tumbled over the edge right there with her, his deep growl reverberating through her._

 _…_

An uncontrollable shiver ran over the young woman.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

"Professor, I apologize for not getting back to you earlier."

"It would not have done any good, Commander. It is only today that I can offer you the following: A small helicopter avec pilot, fuel to take you to the west coast if need be, and two volunteers."

Chandler felt the relief flowing through him like so much cool water. "That is very good to hear, Sir."

"Most anything to help you find that young woman. The scenarios you paint are disquieting. Any news?"

As much with honest trust in the old man as with the need to share this with somebody, the commodore said: "The most frustrating thing about this is the absolute silence. No ransom demands, no radio, no messages on Raymond's network. And our sole working helo bound at the west coast with our Doctor Scott. We will be in your debt." He did not have to add how personal this was. The old man knew.

The philosopher grimaced humorlessly. "I'm sure we'll find a way to even out the debt. Commodore, I would like to bring another subject to your attention."

"Please."

"We are having trouble refurbishing the ammunitions factory. So far, securing Baltimore surroundings and the base is no difficulty – not for the next months, and not if we will not have to face a much more numerous enemy than the two groups. But since your Commander Slattery is coming north in a day, maybe we can compare resources and figure out an exchange of some sort."

"I will take your words to the president and our logistics team and figure something out. Have the lists sent to Mrs. Green, please."

"Will do. It is not my place, but…"

"Please, Professor, speak freely." He liked the old man, his ridiculously polite English, his careful expressions.

"Commander Slattery could make a few stops on the way, inquire after cars, other instances of missing people? Maybe somebody asking after technical personal? We still do not know why Miss Rykers was taken, and if the direction of the tire tracks is anything to go by, they might have headed north."

Chandler allowed himself a slow smile. This was a piece of information that would be in good hands here. "Tex Nolan and his daughter will be on the 'copter, and wish to be put down half way. Nolan intends to teach his daughter, search for Rykers and spread word. We intend to widen the layman's radio communication network."

The white head nodded. "Same as we do toward the north. Maybe he can be told where to find several server nodes, and we can reestablish a more reliable network connection. Get more of a feeling what the country looks like."

"Indeed." Tom Chandler felt his smile grow more real. "Glad to have you on our side, Professor."

"Another thing we owe to Miss Rykers. Maybe we will have opportunity for a talk face to face, Commodore. I would appreciate your personal opinion on ... well. Some other time."

"At your service, Sir." The commodore did not hide his bemusement. From what Alvi had let slip, the Canadians backing the Professor had not been inclined toward Mitchener. But meeting the Navy team and himself had swayed the old man toward a more open view, and the collaboration had turned fruitful very quickly. Chandler had primarily suspected the Elf to have either exaggerated shamelessly (though he had to admit that was highly out of character), or that the relationship between the old man and the young woman had been more intense than either of the two had acknowledged. He knew that university sometimes provided fertile grounds for like minds to connect – maybe the case here. Lacroix certainly had more than a glancing interested in the young woman's whereabouts.

After logging off, Chandler stayed in the quiet room for a moment, staring at the map of the southern states.

 _Elf, where are you?_


	43. Chapter 43

"Morning, Francie! Listen, I knocked on your door last night but I guess you must have been asleep already." There was a slight warning in the shy blond woman's eyes.

 _She'd been up on the roof. Thanks, Siobhan._ "I must have been. Sorry to have missed you." That last bit was meant honestly. "But I've got an hour after lunch today – maybe we could take a walk together? With your boy?"

Siobhan smiled cautiously. "That sounds nice."

….

It was a beautiful late autumn afternoon when Alviarin met up with her downstairs neighbor. They walked at the slow, meandering pace the toddler allowed them, giving the young woman time to take in as much of her surrounding as possible. This was the first time she got to see more than the immediate vicinity of either the washing 'saloon', the kitchen, or the entrance to the pit.

"How did you survive?" she blurted. Feeling the blush creep up her cheeks at the other's surprised glance, she amended: "I'm sorry, that came out abruptly. But seriously, I've seen so few children, and yours must have been just a baby when the red flu hit. Are you both immune?"

Siobhans face relaxed. "He was not yet half a year. We never had to find out if we're immune, because Gregory got us out of Dallas the same day that the news hit and the airport was closed."

"This has been a safe haven since the beginning? No wonder it's organized so well, and there's the fence… So you've been living here for over twenty months?"

"Aye. Ryan and Greg are old friends. That's how he knew of this place." The young mother clamped her mouth shut suddenly, sending a frightened look 'Francie's' way.

Alviarin smiled blandly, her mind whirling. "How lucky you guys were. Oh, watch out." The toddler was about to grab for a large slug.

Even after the resulting hubbub, Siobhan's eyes retained the fey look.

Alviarin offered to turn back, suddenly uncomfortable using the woman for information. But the boy made short of their musings by playfully grabbing a hand each and expecting to be swung between them.

Heart close to bursting – _she missed the children, little Zach, tall, quiet Ashley, solid, thoughtful Mhari, smart, jumping-mind Sam –_ Alviarin complied, laughing freely.

Siobhan was laughing with her when the wiry form of her husband stepped into their path. He was smiling genially, caught his son up in his arms and threw him gently into the air, screeching with delight.

"Thought I'd find you out here, my love. And with Francie. That's nice, that you are getting to know each other. How's it going?"

Holding on tight to the carefree smile the toddler had put on her face, Alviarin nodded and looked at Siobhan. "Your wife is very kind. And its such a lovely day. Your son tried to catch a slug."

If Siobhan's laughter sounded slightly too high at first, it got lost in the sound of his booming laugh.

Alviarin felt unsettled. That was a good laugh. Deep and friendly and heartfelt. Reminded her of Mike. She did not want to like the man.

Gregory caught her looking at him, but the sudden warmth in his eyes did not shift.

Siobhan leaned against her husband and whispered something in his ear. The tall man glanced down at her and shrugged, slightly more guardedly gazing back at the young woman.

"Francie, will you come and have dinner with us tomorrow?"

She could not have hidden the surprise and confusion anyway, not completely, she told herself. At least this way the instinctive suspicion that rose in her would be hidden. "You cook for yourself?"

"Yes." Siobhan was happy to answer. "We usually eat cold in the evening."

"Some days I don't see my family for the whole day, and I appreciate the privacy of my own four walls," Gregory supplied.

She dared a rueful smile. "I understand perfectly. I would be honored. But please let me help, there's not much I can contribute otherwise." She tilted her head, glancing at the sun. "But I fear I should head back. Work to do."

…..

…

"Dad, your turn! What was the worst moment of your day?" Ashley was propping herself up on her elbow, peering into his face. The three of them had found their way onto Alviarin's double bed. Both children had cornered him – it may even have been a setup, he suspected dimly.

"Truthfully? To come home to you with still no word on Alviarin."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Sammy, in the fashion of a much smaller child, put his cheek on Tom's chest as an offer of comfort. Wrapping his arm around his dead wife's mini-me, he found he could take what his son was trying to give.

"And the best moment of your day?" His daughter was adamant.

That was easier. Tom felt his lips twitch. "To come home to you."

The smaller head came up with relish. "That was my best moment, too! Though when Wolfman brought Husky, that was very nice, too. At least we have him back."

"Won't the dog be more work than help?"

"Nah. Dad, he makes us smile, and feel safe." Ashley was unconcerned. "Did the team that went to the power station say anything else? Wolfman seemed rather down."

"Ash, they feel it's their responsibility to find Alvi. Of course they are upset. She's a vital part of the community."

"And our friend!"

"And the worst part is – again – the not knowing."

His daughter's eyes took on a far-away expression. "I remember, when we were in the mountains with mom and Grand-Pa, mom used to cry every time she tried to reach you, or left a message for you. She hated that she did not know where you were, if you even heard what we were saying."

Tom tried not to move, not to change his breathing, not to react in any way. This was the first time the girl mentioned her mother so easily.

"I remember, too. I hated when she cried." Sam said matter-of-factly. "But I hated too when we had to help with the dead mice."

"Oh Sammy! Don't remind me! There were mice in the cabin when we came, and of course they liked the warmth and the crumbs, so we put up traps, because mom and Grandpa were scared they might carry the disease, too. And it was our task to take them out. It was ok after the first few, though."

"It was never ok for me," the boy said bursting with dignity. "I only did it to spare mom. She liked it even less."

Over the humorous back and forth that developed between the children, Tom marveled at the ease with which the conversation had evolved. There was a calmness to his children, an acceptance, a certain peace. He knew both still cried occasionally for Darien, and he knew Alvi had always encouraged them to talk about their emotions. Even lately, before the young woman had left for the Bagnell station, both had begun to mention their mother more or less naturally at dinner conversations, or other moments throughout the days.

He came up from his considerations to both children snuggled against him, breathing evenly. Sam was already asleep, and Ashley clearly drifting off. When the young dog jumped onto the bed at their feet, Chandler could not summon the energy to order him off. Alviarin would have told Husky to get down and dragged in his stuffed blanket. But Tom suspected that the young animal was just as needful of warmth and company as his children were… as he was. Was this what it would have been like had he been there for longer after Darien died? Taking comfort from each other? He drifted off, his blond wife's blue eyes changing into the Elf's grey ones.

…..

"Mike, all set?" Tom Chandler stepped up behind his friend.

"Yes." The blue eyes were shadowed. "Tom, you still certain this is a good idea?"

"It's a necessity combined with a quantum of hope. We talked about this."

Slattery pressed his lips together. "Aye."

"You'll be back within a week." He took a deep breath and glanced around. "About last night…"

Slattery grimaced. "We were both wound tight. I apologize for my abruptness."

"And I for my temper, Mike."

They both managed a warm, chagrined grin. The last evening had been spent in an intent discussion with Green and Taylor boring over the maps of Springfield and its surrounding, the Bagnel dam, Osage power station. The two commanders had not agreed on everything.

"You miss her. Trust in Tex, trust in her. She'll turn up. I'll put word out, and we'll get word back."

"I'll hold on to that till you're back, Mike." He was grateful for the massive man's intently positive words. The other man had no hope to see his love again. While he himself was holding on with every last shred of hope.

…..

….

"Dad, it's Valerie Raymond." Ashley had opened the door cautiously.

It was late. Tom took a moment to calm his heartbeat – the computer scientist at this hour opened up a lot of possibilities.

"Captain Chandler…"

"Miss Raymond. Please, come in." Valerie was pale – she was always pale, skin as light as Alvi's. But now spots of high color were on her cheeks. She was breathing fast. "You walked?"

"Yes. Sorry for barging in like that." She sent an uncertain glance toward his children.

Chandler calmly turned to them and asked: "Would you monkeys please take the Husky and get to bed? I promise, if there is anything to tell, I will tell you tomorrow."

"And you won't leave without waking us up?"

"Another promise, Sam."

"'kay, Dad. Good night. Bye, Miss Val!"

"Good night, guys."

Ashley only nodded at them both, eyes serious.

"Sit down, Miss Raymond."

"Please, can you just for now call me Valerie?"

He had never seen her so upset since the oil rig. "What is it, Valerie?"

"See, that's the problem. I don't know if its something, or just my paranoia going overboard. We've had so many people using weird call signs, sending even weirder messages in search of their family and friends. Its this. I wrote it down."

She held out a piece of paper to him.

Trying hard to keep his fingers from shaking, he made an effort to sort through the dancing letters. The words refused to click into meaning.

The young woman leaned forward, studying his face intently. She burst out into the too long silence: "See, that's why I walked! I could not make it out. She's a Tolkien fan, all right, but the rest? Could it be her?"

"When did this come?"

"Ten fifteen tonight. It's the first that really raised my hackles."

"Much as it pains me to say it, this means nothing to me. You've got more history with Alviarin, Miss – Valerie."

"Damn that – could be anybody. But the wolf child…"

Tom Chandler took a breath and leaned back, relaxing his shoulders demonstratively. "Let's analyze this. Just between us. Explain the Tolkien reference to me."

"Tolkien is _the_ fantasy author. You must have heard of the Lord of the Rings – if not the book, then the movies. Ah, your children were too small…"

"The dwarfs and the elves and something about a ring. I remember the posters."

"Yeah, and the most important characters are the hobbits. There's Bilbo and Frodo and Sam…"

Tom felt the frown on his forehead. "Hobbits?" Something tickled his memory.

"Yeah. And Beorn… he's this big tall friendly bear of a man. Kind of like…"

"Mike Slattery?" Tom stood suddenly, started pacing the length of the living room and kitchen.

Val stared up at him, nonplussed. "I guess you could say so… Why?"

"She said something once... I did not get it then, but she sounded so delighted…"

"Alvi?"

"Yes. We were coming to the house for the first time, in the afternoon sun. Mike opened the door, with the four children spilling out around him. She said… _Beorn and the hobbits_ …"

Hope, elation and fear threatened to break his iron grip on himself. "I'd say there's a fair chance that this is Alviarin trying to get through to us. Let me see again."

The slip of paper was already worn out.

 _To Beorn and the hobbits. Narrow windows. Undermined trees. Wolfchild misses you._

"Sir?"

He had lost himself in the writing.

"Suppose it's her. She manages to get a message out. What's she saying?"

"The first is clearly an effort to reach you. You can pinpoint that she used the words for Commander Slattery and the children. She can't do it any more clearly, because…" The woman shrugged.

"Right. The next part: She's tightly watched, or maybe has only a narrow window to contact us."

"Or both." Val was drumming her fingers on the table. "Last part with the trees, I don't get."

"She might be trying to tell us something of where she is. Maybe she doesn't know where she's being held."

The redhead let her head fall onto her arm. "And she knows we can't pinpoint the origin of the message. Not enough coverage. But we can send an answer."

"Slowly, Miss Raymond." Tom sat down again, mind sorting through the possibilities and dangers. "Where was this message sent to?"

"To my network's server. There's a part set up for people searching for friends and relatives. You can send video messages, text messages, and emails. It's meant to be sorted through by whoever is looking. Works quite nicely so far."

"So anybody reads those words." Chandler held the strip higher.

Valerie grimaced. "Yes."

"If you send an answer anybody can see?"

"Two possibilities. This seems like a mobile phone text message to me. The wording, the shortness of it. So I can try and figure out the number. Would take me a few hours max."

Tom nodded. "Or?"

"Or, I post an answer on the page. It would not reach the phone – if it's a phone. She – or whoever – would need access to the network – to the internet."

"Do you see the dangers in either?"

"I… Nnn… Damn it, my brain's on overdrive."

The tall man almost smiled. "If it's a phone – is she the only one using it? Was it a one-time-possibility? Will we put her in danger if we answer?"

"Ah."

"If she's on the network: She's using such cryptic wording, we've got to be twice careful how and when to answer. Anybody can read it."

"But I thought we assumed that she was taken for either her connection to the navy, or for her work on the power stations. That they know who she is."

"But they should not know its her communicating … and with us."

"So we're fucked either way."

"Language, Miss Raymond."

"Sorry." She bit her lip shamefacedly. "It's just…"

"Actually, this is the first bit of hope we've had for over two weeks. Can you let the computer figure out the number this was sent from? Start that search. Then - go home, go to sleep. We'll discuss this with Mike and the strategic team tomorrow." Chandler held up a hand when she would have lunged to interrupt. "Yes, you'll be included. There's nothing happening tonight, and you are not going back to the computers. Promise me that. However we proceed, nothing happens this night."

Valerie Raymond seemed to deflate. She got up slowly.

"Guess you're right. Though I would…"

"I can imagine well what you would do. No. Don't endanger Alviarin needlessly."

Slowly the woman headed toward the door, but turned before reaching for the handle. "Thank you, Captain Chandler, for taking this – me – seriously."

Chandler smiled thinly. "Thank you for trusting in me." She'd come here first thing. "How did you stumble upon the message in the first place?"

Raymond actually blushed. "I… I got an algorithm running, searching for key words. One of them is wolf."

The commodore lifted one eyebrow. He could guess where this was going. "The Australian?"

"Well, he's still looking for word from his family. And… Alvi had the nickname 'wolfchild' in the gamer days, for her ability to vanish into the woods. And for her story. So…"

He let it lie. Not his place anyway. "What other keywords are you running?"

"Elf, Nathan James, St. Louis. Couple of names."

"Get me a list of them for tomorrow. I'll get back to you 'bout the time and place."

"Right. Thank you. Good night."

"Good night, Miss Raymond."


	44. Chapter 44

Both hands braced against the stubborn door, Alviarin gave up and leaned her forehead against the cool metal.

"Francie, you done?"

"Give me a few more minutes. One more try."

"But…"

A new voice interrupted. "Nice to see you so motivated, Francie Miller." Ryan stood on the stairs that lead up to the main door, the tawny buzz-cut Gordon behind him.

Alviarin stared down the long corridor at the two figures. Al, who had come to her corner to collect her for dinner, had startled. It was by far too easy down here to mask sounds.

Unwilling to stay if she was alone or with _either of those two_ , the young woman shrugged. "It's probably better if I leave it here."

Ryan walked toward them determinedly, his eyes alight. "No, if you feel close to break through, stay, keep at it. I'll make sure personally you'll get your food."

Honesty sometimes helped… "I would not be comfortable alone."

"Then Gordon can stay with you."

She met Montgomery's eyes with a raised eyebrow. "Name one woman that would be comfortable in your man's presence… alone… " she said it quietly, with as little inflection as she managed. The stories about Gordon served quite successfully to keep people back from the fence… or wherever the man was at any given time.

Ryan pressed his lips together, frowning a little. "And if one of the bikers stays?"

Making a bit of a show of hesitancy, Alviarin shrugged again. "Fine."

Chris grunted from where he had followed the conversation. "I'll stay. Could lay open the lines here." He motioned to where he was digging through the floor in search of a broken cable.

Ryan sketched an exaggerated bow. "Would that suit Miss Miller?"

"Fine," she answered with indifference, even a small frown. The leader of the camp's expression betrayed entirely too much calculation. Let him think she and Chris did not get along.

"Settled then. What's your difficulty here?"

He did that sometimes, asking her after her day's work, either honestly curious or trying to sound out the earnestness of her efforts. Alviarin took a breath and turned her back at the thug at the end of the corridor, motioning toward the laptop she'd been working at. "Processing the chip is mind numbing work, and I am not as familiar with C++ as I should be. Plus most of the conductor plates got fried, so I'm doing a lot of soldering on the side. But now it's mostly a question of processing power, and the laptop is close to exhaustion."

"Why processing power?"

"There's a code lock on the door, and if I catch the feedback and get the algorithm right, I'll figure out the combination. Once it's open, I can set a new code, or disable the lock altogether."

"Ah." He had listened carefully, and now his face closed.

"What is it?" she dared ask shyly.

"I was afraid of this. Most of these doors are locked with a code."

"And there's no way to open them manually?"

"No. That's the point of it."  
Alvi frowned a little. "What's behind them?"

But Ryan had had enough. "Open it and you'll get a look." His demeanor changed. "One look, though, and no more." His hand closed around her throat with the suddenness of a snake, pushing her back against the door. "Don't try anything, Francie. I know what's behind this door, so I know that leaving you alone down here won't result in surprises. But trust me, I will know if you take one step further than you should."

Alviarin kept very, very still. All senses were screaming for her to defend herself, her hands twitched wanting to go through the familiar motions, but he must not know the extent of her abilities. So she kept her eyes almost closed, her hands by her side. His breath was hot in her face, and she turned her head from him.

Before any of the other guys interfered, Ryan stepped back as abruptly as he had grabbed her. Without another word he turned and headed for the stairs. Al and Walther slowly followed him after concerned glances at Alvi and Chris. The young woman did not move as long as she felt Gordon's eyes on her, only when the door closed behind the four men she relaxed.

"You ok?" Chris had not moved.

"Shaken. Fine." She did not mind if Ryan could hear them. Then she nodded at Chris and sat down by the computer.

They had figured out a way to talk – short sentences, questions, careful plans – by simply typing them into the laptop. Valerie Raymond's introduction into the secrets of computers had given her enough insight to know that the laptop was safe, nobody was looking over her shoulder reading her typing or through it's camera lens at them. It was taken away from her every evening, but she knew how to delete temporary data – not all of it, but those that might betray them.

Now she stretched, shook her wrists and set to work. Ryan's attack had given her an idea.

…

Though she had misgivings galore about her recklessness, while the chip was being programmed, she typed a few sentences into the text file.

 _Chris, I think I got it. If the door opens, they will hear it upstairs. So we've only got a few short minutes before we've got people at our backs. I have little hope, but I need you to stand by the steps and warn me. OK with you? I'll share anything and everything I find._

She threw a bit of debris at the eagle-tattoo, and motioned the bearded man over. He skipped over her words, threw her a calm look, and nodded. She deleted the document and it's traces in seconds, and placed the conductor plate on the little shelf by the door's interface/touchpad. A deep, shaky breath, a worried glance, and she connected the cables and flipped the little switch.

And it worked. The LEDs blinked on, then off, then turned to green. With a gentle _woosh_ the tall, heavy thing slid into the wall.

Without hesitating, Alvi shone the torch into the dark and scanned floor and walls as quickly as she could. More walls, a larger room, cupboards against the side, three doors on the other side and another one at the end. Papers lying around. But…

Her heart stopped. "It worked!" she said aloud, turned back toward Chris.

"You did it!" he summoned an equal amount of amazedness into his deep voice. Though his face betrayed disappointment and a question.

Exhilaration in her eyes, the young woman took three steps into the unknown and picked up a small, rectangular item from the floor. She turned, showing it to the biker. A mobile phone. And not one of the fancy big-screened smartphones either, but an old one, an indestructible one. One that might have survived, might even have battery left. Standing up, she noticed something that stilled her heart. A map against the wall. A forked lake, islands, spots on it's border. _BIG FIR._ She stared hard at it, trying to commit it to memory.

"Francie." Chris' voice carried a warning.

She turned, stepped out of the room, and froze. They were searched thoroughly when they left the compound. What to do with the phone? For the first time since she had been abducted, her knees almost gave out, and she would have sagged to the floor in desperation if the biker had not grabbed her arm.

He shook her urgently, forcing her eyes up to his. The large hand gestured to her head. Once he knew he had her attention, he gently pulled the wooden stick out of her braid, letting it fall loosely down her back.

Alviarin grabbed the stick back half angrily. They could already hear the heavy steps thundering down the stairs. With shaking hands she pulled the braid a little looser apart. A deep breath and the phone was hidden safely under the figure eight of her hair at the back of her head. Chris nodded approval after an intent moment of inspection. As they turned in unison to the oncoming group, Chris' hand grabbed her elbow.

Ryan was again the leader of the group. "Seems I was right in saving you some dessert as well." He took in the scene with a sharp glance and motioned the three men with him into the new room.

"Careful," Chris drawled. "Might not be safe. Air's gone bad. She almost fainted. Just from standing near the door."

Ryan took a step closer to the young woman, who gripped Chris' arm as response. "She's pale enough to faint right now. Get yourselves into the fresh air. Mort's upstairs. Or should I have you carried?" The last part was directed at Alviarin.

She shuddered and pulled back from both men. "I'll walk." Even her voice sounded off.

….

Walking through the cold evening air, Alviarin let go of her companion's arm. "I can't believe Ryan missed that you are vets, the four of you."

"He's government, not military. Been playing toward the prejudices towards bikers, and the racist issue – Maddie in the middle. And he's unstable, you must have noticed."

"I noticed something." _Something rotten, something spoilt._ "Listen, I'm invited to dinner tonight."

"Then why are you walking with me?" His eyes warned her. He did not think the phone would be safe with him. At least they had gotten it past the 'checkpoint'.

"You can have my dinner if I can maybe have your dessert?"

Chris grinned his rare, wolfish smile. "Ah. Sure. Don't like no sweets."

She grinned right back. "So I got something to bring. Chris…"

A quick look around for curious ears. They were alone. She lowered her voice regardless. "Find out where people are from originally. The more the better."

The burly man slowed. "You have an idea?"

"Aye. Tell you tomorrow."

Chris nodded. They parted shortly after, he carrying his food to where Al and Walther were sitting with Madison, who had been suffering some kind of relapse; and Alviarin traipsing off to her little apartment.

…

It was half past nine by the time she could escape graciously to her own place, and another half hour for safety before she climbed up to her resting spot beside the chimney.

Weighing the small rectangle in her hands, she contemplated the day. Her nerves were tingling.

The evening had been partly a success, partly disquieting.

Dinner had been a simple affair, more to her taste than she liked to admit. They had chatted amiably about little things. A few tidbits about the origins of the camp had come to light, its development and the running of it.

The little boy, Lucius, liked her – far too much. She had been trying so hard to keep her distance, not to grow attached to anything here. Gregory had even called her out after Siobhan had left to put the boy to bed.

…

"Don't do this, Francie. Don't try to hold back. Allow yourself to like it here. You'll make things easier for yourself if you let go of the stupid hope to get away."

He was the dangerous one, here. He was smart, observant and a good man. Only his loyalties…

"I can't understand how you can hope to build a sound society on the grounds of unwilling subjects."

"Every single one of those that were unwilling turned willing soon enough. This place offers safety, food, self-reliance, no taxes of any kind, and the freedom that democracy brings."

"But who are we safe from? Why is the fence, Gordon, and Montgomery's weird secrecy needed?"

"There are outbreaks of the red flu or variants of it here and there. You must have heard."

"I did." _Aha – he too was trying to sound out how much she knew. There were no variants of the red flu. Cases of Swine-flu or Bird-flu combined with the red flu and bad hygienic, yes. But no need for fear-mongering._

"War lords to the north and the south. In the chaos that resulted after the outbreak, after the millions of deaths, necessarily bad guys survived, too, and grabbed the situation by it's collar, so to speak. Power over resources, factories, weapons is a dangerous incentive. And people are weak. You heard of the crazy English?"

Alviarin turned to the window, unwilling to let him read too much in her face.

"You're going to convince me Ryan Montgomery is a good man?" She kept her tone light, contemplative.

"Why, you trying to convince me self-styled president Mitchener is a good man?"

Alviarin had to grimace, even laugh a little at his perfect imitation of her tone.

"Mitchener isn't just one man. He's surrounded by good people, idealists, believers. St. Louis is safe, and people eat, there, too."

"Believers in the old world, the old constitution, the old government. In centralization."

"People will tend to group together, it is a simple measure to ascertain survival."

"Aha," Gregory said, sardonically raising one eyebrow. "But right now, at the beginning of a new world, should not everybody be free to follow their own beliefs?"

She was getting impatient. "Nobody forces anybody to stay in St. Louis. The navy fixed the Bagnel Dam station and the solar fields for Springfield, and everyone who asked for it, too." Though Springfield's population had been sparse, to say it gently.

"True. But once the navy is not fighting to keep order, clean out the city and organize food, the so called government will want to establish the old order. Power over the land is power over the resources."

"Hence the fence and Gordon the buzz cut?" She could not keep the bite out of her voice.

"This place was always meant to be self-sufficient as soon as we have enough people of the right professions. It was always a planned society. Now is the moment to prove it. Gordon and the fence are as much to keep the potential in, and safe, as they are to prevent larger incidents. We can't have anybody wandering in here, undermining or disrupting." Greg's voice carried enough steel for the young woman to recognize the warning.

 _Who was he trying to convince?_

"So it's a special group of people you've collected?"

"Of course a certain amount of elitist material is at the base of this construct. But especially a woman as smart as you must understand the necessity of a sieve."

 _This was dangerous, dangerous stuff they were talking about. And yet, something of the thought material was familiar._ Though he was smart enough that drawing the parallel to the famous, really dangerous elitist leaders would not rattle him.

"You'd have gotten along very well with the aforementioned English." She had heard Ryan give his speeches now and then, so this conversation did not manage to shake her to her core. Not quite.

"Francie, sarcasm doesn't suit you."

She could not give up that easily. "You said that as a smart woman I should understand the necessity for elitism. Maybe. But put emphasis on the _woman_ and especially Ryan and Gordon don't make for supportive arguments."

Point to her, the young woman thought. He had grimaced, taken off guard.

"Ryan… He's had it hard."

Alvi snorted. Who hadn't had it hard? And who did they owe it to if they had survived… ah, here lay the bone. "He was your friend." She had to make him tell it himself.

Greg's eyes were far away. "Ryan never had much of a family. He lost his only sister due to the cordon around-" he broke off, glanced at her.

Alvi watched him calmly, waiting for the continuation.

"Anyway, he'd helped that sister through some difficult stuff, and to loose her to a government-induced safety measure… he hasn't been himself since. But even so... he saved a lot of people's lives, including…" he swallowed.

"Your son's and your wife's." Alviarin rubbed a hand over her face. Greg felt guilty that he had managed to save everyone that meant something to him, and Ryan had lost the one thing he truly treasured. Plus Ryan had saved his family, and Greg felt indebted to him. There would be no help or support for her from this side, as much as Siobhan might sympathize.

The thought had brought the young mother into the room. Seeing the two somber figures by the window, her eyes had hardened. "Everything ok in here?"

"Yes, love, we've just been talking. Lucius asleep?"

"Almost. He's asking for you." Her face softened again.

"Then I better go to him." If the slender man's tone was slightly forced, his shoulders had relaxed by the time he passed by his wife with a quick, gentle grasp of her hand.

"Francie?"

"Everything's fine, Siobhan. We've just been talking about the outbreak, and how you guys came to be here." It was close enough to the truth. "Somber subject," Alviarin tried to joke. "Hey, it's been a lovely evening, but I think I'll retire soon, it's been a long day."

"It's been really nice having you. Lucius has quite taken to you."

"He's adorable," said Alvi, giving in. The boy was the innocent, and a convincing reason for almost any action.

Siobhan asked shyly: "Maybe we can walk together again, some day soon?"

"I would like that. Though it's getting cold."

"I know, I've been trying to knit a hat for Lucius. I can't for the life of me figure out… Here, I'll show you."

Alviarin's tilted head must have given away her interest. It took the two women almost ten minutes to sort through their combined knowledge on knitting, and Alvi writing down a few calculations until the young mother was confident again that her efforts would not go to waste.

"Look, I have all this beautiful wool, but I'm so slow... and I have only very few instructions."

This was harmless enough, and her fingers itched. "If you lend me some needles, I can make you – or Lucius to be precise – a poncho real quick."

"Oh! That would be marvelous. You can do that?"

"I'll show you, there's nothing to it. Two rectangles put together. And you can sew down the sides so less wind goes in. But he's free to move."

"Women's talk." Greg's voice from the door carried fond exasperation.

How she would have liked to throw something sarcastic his way. "Yeah, I'll leave you now. Thanks for a very cozy evening, both of you. Siobhan, I'll see you one of the next days."

….

Alviarin up on the roof leaned her head against the brick chimney. It was time, if it ever was. She pressed the little button on the top of the phone with fingers so numb she hardly felt it give.

Trusty, old-fashioned, no-nonsense, app-less brick-phone. The screen changed color. It wasn't locked. There was a three-quarter full battery sign. There were… bars. One bar. Somewhere around here a radio tower was active. Now. The number that would reach Val. Her fingers shook so hard, the digits wavered in front of her eyes.

She had to be cryptic, but not too cryptic. She had to believe that all the necessary people would get together, that one of them would identify one of the markers. But not too cryptic. The old callsign was a risk, but one she had to take. It was one of the markers. It should get Val's attention. She had to trust. _Tom._

She switched the phone off in unconscious urgency and sat in the silent night, shivering despite the feverish speed of her thoughts.

Tomorrow, she promised herself finally. Tomorrow, same time. She'd switch it on again.


	45. Chapter 45

It was normal for him to be the first one awake in the house. Even Husky was still fast asleep at Sam's feet. What was unusual was the hour. The sun would be rising in two hours, he was due in the office in three. He'd already sent messages around that he wanted his strategic team there an hour early. What else was unusual, that he stood in Alviarin's room, staring at the - what had she called it? – _earthy wall decoration._ The dreamcatcher she had put together with the avid help of all four children. Staring at it, and considering the deity that he hoped so fervently watched over the Elf, that he knew she believed watched over his children.

 _It's the same basic believe in one God. The name is irrelevant. The construct is irrelevant. You're a benevolent spirit, I believe in a benevolent spirit – what remains of my beliefs, anyway. Look after the woman. Bring her home to me._

Later, he knelt down in front of his two children. "Guys, I'm keeping my promise. So. Valerie Raymond brought a message that might be from Alviarin. We don't know for certain." He let that sink in. "I don't know if or when we might confirm that it's from her. So don't get your hopes up too much."

"But you think it might be her message, Dad."

"Sam… It's a flimsy hope."

The boy regarded him very seriously, then said: "Well, if you answer back, tell her the Hobbits say hi. She'll know it's us."

Tom frowned, unreasonably heartened by his son's words. "Aha, and how is that?"

It was Ashley who answered, calmly. He saw himself in her sometimes, much as he saw Darien in Sam. "She used to call us the Hobbits – the four of us, Mhari and Zach and Sam and me together. Kathleen knows the books and the movies they're referring to, but she's someone different altogether."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, darling, but I'll put it before the strategic board today."

"Who's on the board? Is uncle Mike back already?"

"Yes, Mike returned last night. He'll be there, Miss Raymond, Andrea Garnett, the president's secretary. And Tex."

"But Tex is somewhere driving around!"

"Aye, but he has a radio and a phone. He was contacted, and I hope he will join us. So. Be patient. And try to have fun with Kara."

"Yes, Dad. Love you!" Sam was skipping to the door.

"Dad?"

"Ash?"

"Thanks, for telling us."

"Why, love…" only his daughter had the ability to leave him unsettled.

"You didn't use to. Grandad never did. But now you're talking to us. I know we are children, and Sam is only nine, but it's easier this way. Easier to know what you worry about, that you face danger. That we talk about things that are not just rainbow and unicorn."

Tom chuckled and pulled his tall, willowy daughter into a hug. "Love you, ladybug."

"Love you, Dad."

….

A surprise opened the neighbor's door – usually Mike and him went into the center of town together.

Tom felt his heart lift at the sight of the short cropped, white head. "Dad."

His father's blue eyes shone with the same relief and joy he felt himself. "Son."

The two men embraced, in the way that family does.

It had taken the children a moment longer to realize what the holdup was, but now they threw themselves at their grandfather. Sam even sniffed expressively.

"Mike brought me up to speed – more or less. I know you're due at the office. If it's ok with you, I thought I would join the children and your Mrs Green."

"Kelly and Ava?"

"They're safe and sound, I left them with a couple of new friends. Found a house nearer the harbor, where more people live." He turned to the children with shining eyes. "Yes, the goats are fine, and the chicken, too. Come."

…

Everybody summoned for the meeting had been early, Valerie Raymond included. So everybody was up to speed, and the noise level was so high that nobody noticed when the commodore entered. Except Andrea Garnett, who was leaning back in her chair, eyes troubled, and met his nonplussed glare with pursed lips and raised brows.

"Good morning." He let his voice boom out as if he were on the Nathan James. Silence fell.

He took a chair opposite Mike and leaned forward. "I take it Valerie has told you what happened last night."

"Aye." – "Yeah." – Grunts and acknowledgments.

"So, anything constructive happen?"

It was Mike who summed up the collective opinion: "Consensus is divided, Sir."

Chandler glanced around the table, taking in all the faces. Raymond had prepared a slide show. Andrea was clearly one of the suspicious ones – it was in her character to doubt twice before believing. She'd had ample reason for it, too. Medina – he liked the young man, well informed, soft spoken, idealistic to a fault. He wanted to believe. Mike, hollow eyed and grumpy, was trying to be aloof of the discussion. He'd have to ask his former first officer about the trip to Baltimore and back. Then there was one of the Canadian additions. The computer scientist that knew both Valerie Raymond and Alviarin. Straight black hair, olive skin, short and broad shouldered, his Indian heritage was undeniable. But Mahesh – he only knew the guy's first name, Chandler realized with a start – had proved a likeable counterpart who knew to even out Raymond's sometimes harsh humor. His loyalty to Professor Lacroix was acknowledged and sanctioned universally. Alvi liked him, though she made fun of him to his face.

Beside him sat Wolfman Taylor and Danny Green, both bearded and rough-edged, frustrated, but eager.

"I would suggest we probe the message analytically. Miss Raymond, rehash the details for us, please."

While Valerie repeated the time and conditions at which she had found the message, Tom Chandler exchanged a long glance with Mike Slattery. He knew the other man could read him almost as well as he could read Mike. His friend was mostly satisfied with the outcome of his trip, but there was something unhappy lurking at the base of the blue eyes. Right. Later.

Suddenly he was impatient to get this over with. "The hobbit reference was just solidified by my children. Seems it's her private call for them."

Mike Slattery threw him a marginally surprised look. "I knew about that much earlier. Mhari calls Zach 'Hobbit'."

Valerie Raymond turned to Tom with almost elation in the dark eyes. But the commodore held up a hand.

"Solidified, Miss Raymond. Next part. Narrow windows. I guess there is little to disagree on this." Andrea Garnett had perked up. "Chief engineer, your opinion?"

"She had this joke with Andy about narrow spaces. Came to life when they repaired the pumps – it gets close down there."

The James people exchanged glances, sad and amused at the same time.

"It's not an opinion, just a memory. No idea if it's relevant. Could be a coincidence." The blond woman shrugged. While opinions flew over the table, Chandler considered his chief engineer. She was a strong woman underneath the seemingly fragile appearance. She had had to fight for her place as an engineer, on the James. Then first she had lost her family, then her trusted friend and protégé Andy Chung and a long-time staff member at the same time, and now the weird addition she had grown so fond of had been lost. The way her eyes strayed to the radio told him that the attachment Alvi had believed to notice between Andrea and Tex Nolan might actually be a real thing. Andrea had become something of a fatalist. He would be happy to see her smile again.

Mike took the opportunity of a minute silence. "Guess we can agree that it's either a reference to a narrow window of time, or freedom to text unobserved, or both. Next thing?"

"Undermined trees."

Now everybody was silent. All the eyes around the table looked guileless and troubled at the commodore. Tom lifted his shoulders. "I can't add anything. To me it sounds like a possible attempt at a clue to her location."

"If she doesn't know where she is, how will 'undermined trees' help us?"

"Mines and trees - - how would they be related?"

"This is Alviarin Rykers trying to tell us something, we have to consider that she knows the resources we have at our disposal. Trees – so it's a forest area. Undermined… that one I can't make out." Wolfman's gentle vowels took some of the tension out of the room. "The first thing that comes to mind are mines. Do we have information on mines in the area? Salt, precious metals, heavy metals? Or something is undermining the trees – a cave? Dry riverbed? A tunnel?"

A pause.

"Right, we've got to leave that part open." Chandler urged dryly. "Miss Raymond, the wolfchild, if you would."

"So… Wolf asked me to keep an eye out for somebody trying to get in contact with him. I got a search running for the keyword 'wolf'. She might even know about that, I couldn't say for sure. Alvi's callsign on the network, programming days, gamer days, was wolfchild. Most of you know her background. If you've seen her in the forest, you'll understand. If you heard her imitating the howl of a wolf, you'll have a shiver running down your back now. So, wolfchild is what we used to call her at the university and online. I can't imagine anybody else using the name purposely. I know she met with some prejudice the first few times she trusted the wrong people with her story. So…" Valerie shrugged expressively, eyes alight. When nobody reacted, she leaned forward. "I did sleep over it – not much, admittedly, but I did, and I am rather certain it's her."

Chandler spread his fingers on the table. "We are not in a position to ignore the possibility. The question is how to proceed. Miss Raymond, do we have the number this was sent from?"

"Not yet. Will take a few more hours."

"Right. Any suggestions?"

Mahesh raised his hand. "The 'narrow windows' thing bothers me. I would suggest sending back an answer – a message to the phone, not on the site – at most exactly the same time this was sent."

"Concur." That were Andrea Garnett and Mike Slattery unisono.

Everybody else shrugged hesitantly. Chandler nodded slowly. That would be his approach, too.

Graham Medina almost shyly held up a hand. "Send it a bit earlier, so when she presumably switches on the phone, it's there already. Gives you quite a boost of confidence. And nothing lost on our side."

Small smiles appeared around the somber faces.

"The wording is important here. She must know it's us, but that we are stuck as to her location. Anybody reading over her shoulder, or finding it by accident, should think it either a joke – though who would send jokes at this stage of rebuilding – or believably unintelligible. Or we make it sound harmless - every day stuff."

General murmuring followed the young man's words. Chandler smiled a little, eyes meeting Slattery's over the table. The boy was doing his best to think strategically. It was a sound suggestion.

"Sir?" it was the black-haired programmer again. "Can I take this to Professor Lacroix? He is most anxious to hear from Miss Rykers."

Chandler hesitated, then nodded. "Sure. So we're agreed on the timeframe – Miss Raymond, that's your task. As to the wording…"

Wolfman Taylor was hurriedly sketching words on a paper in front of him, crossing them out and rewriting them. Everybody else was watching him, almost mesmerized.

"Something like… _Where are you, pup? All of Nevada is looking._ "

"Nevada?"

"Well, Nolan is Nevadan, no?"

"Ah… good one. I like it. She'll know that Tex is carrying a radio." Medina grinned widely, white teeth shining.

Mike frowned at Mitchener's secretary, counting out the points. "She'll understand we can't figure out where she is. She'll know we got her message by the 'pup'. No more Tolkien, though."

"Don't think it's necessary, Sir. That was just to reach _us_ , or you, to be precise."

Chandler glanced at his watch. Time to go. He stood up. "I like your suggestions, ladies and gentlemen. Miss Raymond, updates once you got the number, please. I'll join you in the here around twenty-two-hours. Green, factoring in all the points Taylor brought up, sketch out possible locations on the map. A circle going as far north as Chicago." He would be out of office mostly, today, there were checkpoints to control, logistics to sign off, people to talk to, security measures to sanction. "Captain Slattery, walk with me?"

"Sir, what about Tex Nolan?"

"If he checks in, get him all the info we have."

"I can wait for his call, Sir." That was Wolfman, glancing at Valerie Raymond. "Sir, one last thing…"

Tom Chandler turned back, one hand already reaching for the door.

"I've been thinking about the dead silence… about people knowing her identity. Danny and I agree – the only names that have been bandied about, are yours and Commander Slattery's – and the President's, of course. But even with O'Connor and Jeter's group of new blood, it was mostly the nicknames. Not always consciously, but I think she and John - their connection to the navy is undisputable, but her name might not be commonly known, even now. Except for the people working at the stations directly – but they are so closely guarded, we are fairly certain nobody got in or out."

 _Fairly certain…_ still, the Australian's reasoning was sound. Chandler nodded.

…

"Mike."

"Aye." Slattery let his commanding officer catch up to him. "Time for a quick update?"

"Please. Baltimore?"  
"Calm and quiet, getting organized, doing quite well actually. Got food rationed for the winter and spring, and solid plans for planting and farming - though also for getting the steel industries running again. Our guys have taken over and things seem to work. No problems with dogs, nor secondary diseases."

"Good to hear. Kentucky?"

"That's a bit of a hot spot. They're still reeling after Columbus, a lot of PTSD issues."

"Ah, same as here."

"Same as everywhere, I'd guess. Too few people who know how to recognize the symptoms, and how to get people to deal. Though in theory they are set up properly – life stock's always been the main trade for the state, and the farms there can be revived. Most just let the animals fend for themselves, just open up different fields."

"Sickness?"

"Very little so far. A few groups who will try for crops come spring."

"Sounds promising."

"Next was Indiana, the troops around Ranger Williams are well organized. They will want to keep their independence, not follow anything Mitchener might suggest."

"Warning received." Tom grimaced. This was an ongoing issue. A lot of the better organized groups wanted their peace until they got their bearings. The Navy team had discussed the politicians' aim for a union – there was no way they could sensibly enforce a government. Most groups – St Louis included, were well busy securing their own. "Though once everyone is settled, hopefully trade will open up."

"The smarter people I spoke with kept this option open. Tom, Tennessee – I know you had high hopes for setting up a food supply… we might have to look further east for more people. There is too few working hands willing to pitch in to keep anything stable going. The most sensible thing would be to do the same as we did in Kentucky: send a group with bikes to simply open up all the corrals and let the animals fend for themselves."

"As Tex said – start hunting again. Good thing you brought my father down."

"Hope I did not overstep, Tom. No chance to contact you."

"You didn't. Especially with this situation now…"

"Aye. You really think it might be a trap? Who would carry such a grudge?"

"Mike, we have to keep our eyes open."

…..

…

Alviarin and the four Bikers found themselves with a free day suddenly. Gordon had barred their path down to the 'cave', and told them in short sentences that the station was off limits for the time being, and they should find something else to do.

Traipsing through the forest village, the young woman turned to eagle guy.

"Did you guys talk yesterday at dinner?" Alvi ventured carefully.

"Course. Nobody can expect that no word's gonna leak. Mostly people think it's a break through." Chris shrugged, face lifted toward the morning sun.

"Did you see the map?"

"Map? It was pitch black in there."

"Map? Speak, woman."

"I could not see much. A lake, with a very forked border, small round islands…"

Silence fell, while the three bearded men contemplated the information.

"Madison, how are you doing?"

The words broke out of the tall woman in a burst: "Mad as a... a..." she lifted a fist. "I was doing better, getting stronger. I'm usually healthy. But since DesMoines, I get these relapses every few weeks, leaving me weak and stumbling and needing ten days to get back on my feet."

Alvi spoke without thought: "Checked your food lately?"

At the suspicious to angry glances, she lifted both hands into the air. "Sorry, just slipped out. Never heard of a relapse to the red flu."

"Walt, what if the woman's correct? I can't believe we didn't think of it before."

"Hey, quietly." Chris rumbled. "Come, let's show our engineer around. Less suspicious that way."

There were the fields she had expected hidden by the forest, laying bare for the winter. Barley, lentils, strong crops, the group explained. A small herd of cows, a larger one of swine, and a chicken coop. Some sheep, some goats.

"How many people live here?"

"Anything up to five-hundred, we think. Your blond neighbor let slip something once."

Gina. "Yeah, she's a talkative one."

Then there was a flat, long building with large windows. Alviarin slowed, drawn magnetically. A workshop of some kind. All kinds of equipment, a large saw to one side. Wood blocks in differing sizes. Three men and two women working, laughing, wiping sweat from their faces.

Chris stopped beside her. "This more to your taste than the work down there?"

Alviarin sighed unconsciously. "Never had the opportunity to try it except as a hobby."

"I didn't tell anybody about your find."

She did not twitch, but nodded at a wave from one woman who noticed them watching. "Why?"

"Does it work?"

"For the time being." Her guts coiled. Had she made a mistake trusting the three guys?

"So what did you do?"

The woman in the workshop was watching them unobtrusively. Alviarin smiled guilelessly, turned to walk after their companions. "I thought we were on the same page here. What Walt said down in the cave. Figure out where we are, then get out together, get away together. Just wait for Madison to be strong enough."

Chris touched her shoulder, gentle for such a large man. "We are on the same page. But you saw Maddy. It's gonna take her ten days to be back to normal. I didn't want their hopes up before we know if there's anything out there."

Her heart sank. He was right. There was danger in excitement, in knowing too much.

"I sent a message, cryptic as can be."

"To your navy friends?"

She nodded, trying to keep her body language loose and nondescript. There were people watching them.

"Far as we figured out, Ryan contacts his outliers with the radio."

"Outliers?"

"The guys that bring fresh blood, or resources, or stuff that's needed, like medicine. There's three cars, three groups. Oh, and…" He reached into his pocket. "Here." He held out a small piece of paper. _Wichita, Topeka, Nashville, Memphis, Shreveport._

When Alviarin did not answer at once, he added: "I wrote down only the next big cities. Narrow down whatever you wanted."

"Thanks, Chris."

"Hey you two, what'cha talking about?" Walt interrupted their quiet moment, warning them about the approaching group - Ryan and Gordon at its head.

"Francie would like to join the woodworkers for balance," Chris mocked, giving Alviarin time to get rid of the paper strip.

…..

"Francie, a word if you please." Ryan's exaggerated politeness raised the young woman's hackles.

"At your service. How's it going in the bat cave?"

He grinned, caught off guard. "Nice one. Listen. You said the you needed more processing power."

"Aye?"

"Here, this is Frank Salomon. He's quite the expert. Tell him what you need." He motioned to a slightly older man of similarly athletic build, receding sandy hair and a bent nose.

"Hi there. Francie, is it? Haven't seen you around. Sure would remember you."

Alviarin managed an air of seeming indifference only by sheer will. That voice… "Anything with a higher CPU number than the recent one will do."

"Getting right to the point? I thought we could get to know each other a bit." Frank closed the distance between them. He was staring at her as if trying to place her. Rather longish face, even skin-tone, thin mouth. He would be called handsome. He could not remember, he must not. It had been twilight…

"Intel core I 5 to 9. Whatever you can get."

"What's it exactly you're working on?"

"Microprocessor reprogramming." Damn it, she did not want to talk to the guy. Her hands were getting sweaty. She glanced around – her biker friends were standing to the side, watching the conversation suspiciously.

"Maybe if you explained in more detail, I can -"

The young woman swallowed, blood boiling. "Mr. Montgomery, how much detail should I offer… Frank?"

"Leave her be, Salomon." That was Greg. Alviarin breathed a sigh of relief and apprehension.

"Anything else you think you might need, Miss Miller?" Ryan was impatient.

This was the dangerous path, right here. She could not say _nothing_ and in two days be stumped for conductor boards or soldering equipment. On the other hand, she did not want to be too efficient. So she named a handful of items that would become obvious if anybody watched her down there, but did not mention the LEDs, the single-chip processor nor the prefabricated controller unit that would have saved her time.

"Right. Lets get going. If you four have nothing to do, go fish."

"Literally?" Alviarin spluttered.

Ryan laughed, even Greg smirked. "Yes. Make yourself useful. This place is not about loitering!"

Frank Salomon's glance she ignored purposefully, though the hair at her neck prickled.

…

There was no more chance at private talking, since the fishing group split them up – Alviarin had to admit to no experience with fly-fishing, so she was put to killing and gutting the surprisingly large pikes they caught.

"It's pretty late for pikes, no?"

"Yes, these days will be the last time till spring. There's few biting – usually we get a lot more faster. You can keep one for yourself, if you know how to skin and bone them."

"Really? I'd love that. Do you ever make fire and barbecue them?"

"No. No open fires. No smoke."

 _Ah. Her question had been half innocent, not expecting so much answer._

"Can you show me how to use the rod next time?" The dark-skinned man had seemed nice enough, but she needed to be careful.

"Aye, certainly. Though you know other ways of fishing, right?"

Oi, how had she betrayed that? "The old-fashioned way, but last time when I was a kid." _He would never guess that she was talking about willow traps and tickling fish._

"The way you tackle the gutting shows practice."

….

She was allowed to keep two fish, and brought one by Siobhan's.

"Wow, that is generous of you!" the young mother exclaimed.

"I had a lovely afternoon by the river with… Dean, I think? The tall guy with the scar on his ear. He let me keep two of them."

"Glad you enjoyed it. I like to eat them, but abhor the killing and gutting."

Alviarin smiled. "Both are necessary for the first. Anyway. Enjoy. I'm really tired. My back aches."

Now Siobhan chuckled sympathetically. "Oh, I can imagine! But let's get together soon, Luce asked after you – Frannie he calls you."

"Well, give him my love. I'll have a long shower to get the stench off me and then be off to bed."

"If you`re still sore tomorrow, I'll ask Greg for some cream." Siobhan watched her walk up the stairs with compassion.

Well, that should be enough sand in everybody's eyes without overdoing it. She'd probably eat the fish raw, sushi style, if she could not roast it over a real fire.

…..


	46. Chapter 46

**AN:** Really honoured and blushingly happy about the new followers, and old friends, and reviews, and constructive criticism I'm getting. True, it is my first story (and will always be my special one), but it is taking on an extent I never ever imagined. Leave a review, they make my day. honestly.

* * *

Ten past ten. Should she? Dare she?

For the hundredth time Alviarin weighed the possibilities of being discovered – she would be warned, and if necessary, find a moment to use Tom's gift. She had surprise on her side. And then? She'd have to leave the Biker's behind – there was no suspicion thrown their way. They had even covered that – if one part of the group was apprehended, the rest would not wait – would run and get word out. The fence itself did not scare her – it looked fairly climbable. The rolls of barbed wire worried her, but she'd brave them. And then? North, she had decided for herself. The river flowed leisurely south-west, so the lake should be south of them. She had caught a glimpse of a wide expanse of glittering water on the path to the fishing site.

The mines scared her less than Gordon did – there were trees, and the river, and animal tracks to follow. Gordon and Frank though… she had escaped rape by the latter by a hair's breath – by jumping into a river to be precise _(uncle Mike, the laptop, the blasted list)_ – almost two years ago and she carried the scars – inside and out. Gordon was the same. The dead eyes, the voice, the lingering looks – and the way that red-headed woman twitched every time he entered a room.

Determined now, she switched the little brick-phone on. Alviarin knew the possibility that its battery would die in her hands any minute, but not for the time being. The screen changed color – how ridiculous the uplift to her stomach, the shiver in her hands.

When the buzz came, she almost dropped the thing.

 _Where are you, pup? All of Nevada's looking._

Wolfman. Tex. Tom looking on with that inimitable expression. Her heart was in her ears, a constant rush of _boom- boom –boom._

While she was typing hurriedly, a second buzz came in. She almost shouted in fright. From a different number.

 _Relay here, Kiddo. Same time. Different station._

What? It took her a minute to understand. Tex was somewhere with a phone and a radio. He would be the relay station, so she was communicating with a single phone and not Val's homepage. Right. She changed the recipient of her answer.

 _Common denominator of Wich, Topeka, Nashv, Memphis, Shrvep, DeMo, Dall, LiRo. Fissured lake. FFA. Heavy weapons. 4 friends._

She pressed send and let go of a breath she had held for far too long. She felt light-headed. Felt like singing, dancing. Instead, she carefully scanned her horizon, put the mobile back into its hiding place – a loose brick. _Brick hiding behind brick. The many uses of brick…_ No hysteria now.

…..

…..

Tex Nolan could just imagine the Elf sitting in some dark corner, typing busily. The large grey eyes would have that fey expression that endeared her to everybody. Her fingers shaking. He'd seen the haunted expression in the Commodore's eyes…

"Dad? What do I do now?" Kathleen had put up the radio.

Tex quickly told her the correct settings, but let her fumble over the switches and screws herself. Learned fast, the girl. He loved watching her frown over the instrument, that light pursing of her mouth when she concentrated.

Right, what kind of mood was this today? Introspective much?

"Did she answer yet?"

"No. Who knows if we'll hear anything. Might take her a while to figure out the relay thing."

"What do we do if we hear nothing?"

"Keep at it, Kat. We don't give up. I promised Wolfman and Cruz."

"Dad? She and the Commodore…"

"They're an item, all right."

"Oh, don't be obtuse." She threw him an exasperated glance. "Nah I mean you mentioned only Wolfman and Danny. What about the big man?"

"Tom Chandler is a proud man, he did not ask me for anything. You were there."

"Come on, Dad. I was there. He did not say anything because there were so many people. But one just had to look at him."

"Suppose you're right." That kid of his sure grew up fast.

"You still angry about Rachel?"

Tex' navy-issued, sturdy waterproof blackberry phone's screen changed color.

"Dad!"

"Establish the connection, Kat."

The girl pressed the intercom button. "Nevada to grey eagle. You listening?"

"Eagle listening." There was barely any white noise. They were still close enough to the radio tower.

"Message received. _Common denominator of Wich, Topeka, Nashv, Memphis, Shrvep. DeMo, Dall, LiRo. Fissured lake. FFA. Heavy weapons. 4 friends."_

He waited for Wolfman to repeat the words back to him, and signed off for the moment. They would get back to him with directions.

"Kat, get out the map, please."

…

…..

A long moment of absolute silence had spread in the radio room at the new government building. Tom was leaning his shoulders against the wall, intently surveying the room. The map on the table drew his eye. Green had marked a circle with at its center, with green spots where known mines or certain landmarks were located. But it was a large area. His eyes met Mike's, who had insisted on joining. The children were with Jed.

Wolfman Taylor had a slightly bemused expression in the handsome face, while Valerie Raymond was staring at the map intently, mind already hurrying along.

Danny Green had a marker in his hand and stepped forward.

"So, that's Wichita, Topeka, Nashville, Memphis, Shreveport, DesMoines, Dallas… Little Rock."

Another silence hit, very low breaths only could be heard.

"Lake… too many lakes here." - "What's FFA?" - "Weaponry…"- "What friends?"

Tom Chandler pushed off the wall. "The detailed map of Arkansas. Northern part." It was an order.

"Tom, how do you figure?"

"FFA - "

Mike and Danny finished the idea with him. "Future Farmers of America."

Medina perked up. "That's amazing." - "That's why she was taken! They needed an engineer!" - "And people know she's an engineer from Springfield, the Bagnel Dam and everything we did!"

"Slow down, people. Quiet. Tom, I don't see… FFA could be anything."

"It's the only thing that makes sense. She was picked not because of her connection to the navy, but because of the abilities she had proved. Forked lake – that narrows it down. Trees, that too. For a large enough compound to be safely hidden and unheard of, a weapon stash large enough for her to use the word 'heavy', its somewhere sparsely populated or uninhabited. The 'undermined' admittedly is not covered. Little Rock is right in the middle of all the names she listed. The idea of a self-sufficient organization, a closed group planning to the future, all that is included in Miss Ryker's mention of FFA."

The commodore breathed deeply. Something gave in his former XO's features – Mike had done this on purpose. With the detailed explanation, Tom had found his equilibrium again. He felt Mike's even glance, even through the barrier he had erected around himself. Arkansas. Alviarin was in Arkansas. They had a sign of life.

"Sir, I hate to be the one to point it out, but we have to consider…"

"A trap. Yes, Wolfman, I am considering it."

….


	47. Chapter 47

„Commodore. Good to talk to you again."

"Professor. This sounded urgent."

"Indeed. How secure is this connection?"

That had never been a concern of the old man. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that what I have to tell you is of national importance."

Tom Chandler frowned deeply. One crisis was not enough? "I am alone, and the line is as secure as we can make it."

"Good. Rest assured, Commodore, I would not trouble you with this…" Lacroix wiped a furrowed hand over his face. "You know I have seen both messages Miss Rykers sent so far."

"We are assuming it is truly her."

"Bien sur. We have access to information… about certain installations of the government…"

Installations? He meant the French word. "You mean government sites?"

"Indeed. Where resources, and especially weapons are stored. Information kept safe."

The hair on Tom's neck tickled. "What kind of information?"

"The kind that your secret service, or CIA or FBI would normally present your president with."

That was a long-running issue Tom Chandler had with his government. What about the agencies? Very few agents had come forward and presented themselves to Mitchener. Contact with the Brits was hazy, if constructive. "Why would _you_ have this information? And why come forward now?"

"Amongst my closest friends and coworkers is a man who had contacts in both countries. Who often served as a go-between, and …conseille… advised in certain issues."

Ah, should he feel as if he should have known something like this was coming? Where had been the warning points he had ignored, or been too tired to catch? "Issues of national health and security."

"Health being the quintessencié word here."

"The CDC?"

"Oui, Commodore."

Tom felt anger rising. "How is Miss Rykers involved?"

"She was made _porteur de secret_ shortly after president Mitchener landed safely in St. Louis."

"What?" Tom felt an avalanche shaking the foundation of his mantle.

"She does not even know it. She was told the numbers she 'as to memorize are to do with something else. I am sorry, for the deception. My government was not comfortable with monsieur Mitchener."

Alviarin had very diplomatically and carefully voiced something of the kind. Chandler leaned back, connecting the different strands.

"You're telling me you are afraid Alviarin Rykers was taken by somebody who knows, and to exactly the place she alone in the southern states can open? And have access to what exactly?" He did not bother to take the bite out of his words. The old man had put his woman in danger, had made her keep a secret without all the information, _had made her keep a secret from him_. He had long suspected – and been confirmed by Rachel Scott - that Michael Rykers had had a foot in the CDC in the US – seemingly in Canada, too. He most certainly was the link to the contact Lacroix was referring to.

"We have to assume…"

And Alvi was smart enough to figure out… "Why her? Apart from the family connection?"

"Because of the family connection." The professor confirmed Chandler's assumption without blinking. "It had to be somebody smart, but not immediately within the government, somebody trustworthy, but not blindly loyal. I know her mind…"

"Were you an agent once, Professor?" He hardly knew where the thought had come from.

"You are very observant, Commodore Chandler. Though to be honest, I do not think she was taken because of her status. The engineer angle is more probable."

Now they were back on safe ground, the old man's English settled again. Tom pressed his lips together.

The danger that Alviarin either figured it out by herself – where and what she was, or that somebody somehow connected her, … her name, the engineering fact…

"Who knows? Who knows about these sites? I will need exact locations on all of them! Who knows about Alviarin's involvement?" _Damn it, the fact that he had to ask for these things! Where were their own people with this exact information?_

"The sites, the codes… only very, very high level agents, on both sides of the border. About Miss Rykers involvement – nobody except myself, and said contact."

Chandler spoke through clenched teeth. "Said contact, he knows her?"

"I could not say. He trusts my judgment."

The tall man leaned back abruptly and looked away. His instincts told him the old man was lying through his teeth – for this single instance. The reason was not clear though. Somebody who knew Alvi but did not want to be seen? She herself could probably shed some light on that person.

"Does she know by whom she was chosen?"

"No. She trusts my judgment."

Tom Chandler could not believe he was discussing his Elf with the old man. "What exactly is hidden at those sites?" They had not even touched the coordinates, yet.

"Weapons, sometimes chemical weapons, sometimes unstable material, seeds, equipment. "

"What kind of weapons are these sites secured with." _Heavy weapons._

"Here is a positive information: most of these places were strategically destroyed when the extent of the destruction the plague was leaving in its wake became apparent."

"By who? How?" The anger and frustration made his words heavily sarcastic.

"Remote detonation. By said contact. They were made reasonably safe, unapproachable without the codes."

For that to work, to be true, it had to have happened pretty soon after the outbreak. Before electricity broke down, before the whole internet broke down. But then the CDC had known what was happening. Rachel Scott had known. Alviarin's uncle had known.

"Why bring this up now?"

"Because of the wording _undermined trees_. If she means landmines, then she is most probably at one of three sites in the south."

Landmines? "The coordinates, Professor."

"There is different sort of problem with the coordinates, Admiral."

…

….

The next day, Alviarin was ordered to leave the programming be until Frank Salomon brought a computer with higher processing power, and instead return to the switch board – regulating which houses had access to power, and how to partially turn off or reroute certain amounts. Also, connecting the newly acquired rooms to the network. Small stuff that would need little equipment, and not much time.

The new rooms were being systematically searched by a handful of Ryan's team, Greg in the middle of them. That meant no chance of conversation between the veterans and the engineer. The four had taken to show-fights, verbally, to keep the illusion of uneasiness and strife upright between them to the listening ears and now the men and woman down under with them.

Alviarin worked alone, hands busy with crimping and soldering and fixing connections. It left her mind free to run ceaselessly over the last evening and the scenario it painted. Subliminally she was aware of the 'enemy team' down the corridor, and the 'friendly team' in the other direction, so the hulking figure of Chris slowly ambling toward her did not startle her.

He grunted out an impatient "Band-aid, please." She was the designated first aid distributor.

It was a small, clean cut he showed her. Alertly, Alviarin met the biker's eyes, which were sparkling. Over his shoulder she noticed one of the women on the 'enemy team' glancing their way, so she spat an annoyed "clumsy," at her companion. She reached for the first aid kit and stepped to the side so they were momentarily out of sight from the other group.

Chris showed her what he had hidden in his fist: a swiss army knife, and a credit-card sized metal survival tool. Without waiting for her reaction, he motioned for her to turn around. While the young woman cut off a small Band-Aid, the bear-sized veteran delicately pushed both items into her hair.

Then, one step carrying him back into visibility, he motioned at the switch board while holding out the other hand to be seen to. "How's it going?"

"Slow work. Too much damage." She kept her intonation dry and unfriendly.

"Al could help, he's the man for the small things."

"What's it to you?"

"I like my food warm, and the longer you keep working, the longer we only have intermittent power."

Alviarin grunted, frowning lightly. Ah, she understood.

Half an hour later, Greg came over from the new corridor.

"Francie, find a configuration to give power to the main houses, and leave off down here for an hour. Lunch time."

"Will take me at least half an hour to leave things safely here."

"Take your time."

 _She'd be able to get rid of the knife and the card thingie._

…

And for the first time since that first day, she went thoroughly through the things left in her backpack. Gone was the little survival kit she had carried. It had hurt to loose all the small items carefully assembled – damn, her fire starter set. But now she had the knife and the other tool.

Right. The tin boxes were empty, but she had brought some moss, some birch bark, and some dry, dusty stalks from the fishing foray. Enough for the beginning.

She still owned the first aid kit – needle and thread, gauze, the small rolls of sticking plaster.

She had her clothes for the most part. It was sensible, warmish wool stuff, the way she liked it – layering. But would it be warm enough for winter nights? What did the biker group own? Maddie was a head taller than her.

The most important part was food. Dry food that would keep for a bit. Something to carry Madison through the worst. They had no idea how long they would be walking through harsh conditions. That map…

The memory hit her – BIG FIR. She'd forgotten about that. Maybe Tom or Tex could use the words.

Alviarin glanced around searchingly – where to put the knife? She knew her place was searched now and then, irregularly. Up on the roof? The probability of her being seen climbing now was too high. Finally she put knife and tool in the drawer with her kitchen things – there was a narrow gap between the box where the tools were kept and the back wall of the drawer. Hopefully safe and unobtrusive enough. She'd remove them to the brick hole later this evening. _BIG FIR._ Must remember.

….

It was fully three days later that Greg waited for Alviarin in the morning and accompanied her to the house she had stumbled out of that first day.

….

Three blissful, edgy days with only three hours each in the batcave – she had stuck to the name hoping it would loose it's threat to her – but how she hated being underground, stuck in too-narrow-spaces. It had been ok on the Nathan James, the surroundings familiar enough. But here, with Greg's government people milling around, constantly looking over her shoulder, treating Chris and Walt and Al like simple mechanics. But on the other side, she had been free to spend the afternoons upside – and found her way to the woodworker's. The craftspeople had been suspicious, but agreed to give her something easy to start. And the evenings… when Siobhan had knocked on her door the first evening just as Alvi was about to climb out the window, inviting her to come downstairs for company, she had thought it a coincidence. Chafing though it was: she would miss the opportunity for her treasured minute on the roof – contact with home.

Still, the carefully constructed web of seeming compliance had to be cultivated. Only, the blond woman was so happy to have found a companion who knew to knit of all things, she had asked her to come downstairs the next evening, too, for finishing touches on their craftworks. Greg had joined them later, and the evening was gone.

And yesterday… Rosie had come to call on her, inspecting her little abode scornfully and pulling her to her own, more luxurious quarters.

Two good things had come of that evening. The blond dancer had an array of what Valerie would scornfully call 'dust catchers' lined up on a set of shelves. Tiny porcelain figurines, glass animals, childish things, and in between them, surprising in their unrefined beauty, large clumps of rough crystals. Clear white quartz, smoky quartz, iron coated columns, light green mossy crystals the girl called 'something wave'.

…..

 _"_ _Where'd you find these, Rosie? They're beautiful!"_

 _"_ _Ryan got them for me. He knows I like beautiful things."_

 _Alviarin rubbed the back of her neck. "They must be worth something."_

 _"_ _Oh, no, he did not buy them. They grow around here."_

 _Crystals 'grew' around here? Oh, to have internet access at her disposal. She'd know in a second exactly where she stood. But the girl was talking. "They have magic powers, you know?"_

 _"_ _Really? Like what?"_

 _"_ _I have a friend who knows about these stones. The clear white one can heal and support psychic abilities. The lilac one is for balance, to even out stress, and for bringing inner peace."_

 _"_ _Ryan's very thoughtful."_

 _"_ _Oh, he doesn't believe in the spiritual. Or in healing powers."_

 _"_ _But he gave them to you anyway. You believe, that's important. Where is your friend now?"_

 _"_ _What?"  
"The friend who told you about the stones."_

 _"_ _Oh… we used to talk about stones and chakras and zodiac uses… I used to know everything about zodiac signs and which stones to use for what ailment. She knew about the elements, and the planets…"_

 _"_ _The pendant you're wearing…"_

 _"_ _It's amethyst. She gave me – see, I remembered! It worked! The name of the lilac one is amethyst!"_

 _"_ _She gave it to you?" Slowly Alviarin felt an idea about the younger woman settle in her mind. She did not know a lot about recovering addicts, but a few of the signs were there. "Was she helping you with something?"_

 _Rosie was staring in the near distance with a slight frown of concentration. "yeah. She was helping me… get over a sickness… the sickness. There was other sickness, that all the people had. All the people. Blood running out of their faces." She shivered violently, and Alviarin gently clasped her fingers around a slender wrist._

 _"_ _The red flu?"_

 _"_ _I… I had… it had been a good week, and a good weekend. We partied, you know? They wanted us to dance. The four of us. We were good. And then… to celebrate… we tried something new. Carol had brought it as a surprise. It was good. But then, when I came out of it… and walked home… it turned bad. People coughing, crying blood. Children…"_

 _Alviarin stared at the angelic face, half fascinated, half repulsed. "What happened then?"_

 _Something died in the blue eyes. Her voice fell to a whisper. "I thought it was a bad trip. I thought I would wake up, would snap out of it. Carol, Louise, and Julie… oh Julie. I found her. I thought if I could find her, I could snap out of it. She had left, you see, she did not try the new stuff. Only there was no snapping out of it."_

 _"_ _Where did you meet Ryan?"_

 _"_ _He came to visit me, he liked me. He found me, when things were at their worst."_

 _"_ _What was so bad?"_

 _"_ _There were sick people everywhere, and then the snow came. No warmth, no help, no people! The bodies in the street covered with the white stuff…"_

 _Trapped in a nightmare. And no way of understanding what was going on – late to the events as the young woman had been._

 _"_ _But Ryan found you?"_

 _"_ _He saved me. Picked me up in the street. He couldn't help Julie, or any of the others. Only me."_

 _So they were probably both immune, Alviarin thought to herself. At least Rosie's demeanor made more sense now. Poor girl. She'd changed the subject, and had kept Rosie talking about movie stars and music until the girl fell asleep on the sofa. Uncertain, Alviarin had looked around. In the midst of all the glittering junk - her fire starter set. She considered simply pocketing it, trusting in the mindless-ness of the younger woman. But then she decided now that she knew where it was, she could easily return and get it under some pretext. Rosie would always let her in. It had been just as well – Ryan had stepped in._

 _He took in the sleeping blonde and Alviarin getting up from the armrest with unreadable eyes._

 _"_ _Fancy finding you here." There had been something hostile in his voice._

 _"_ _She just fell asleep. I was about to leave. I… We…we had a nice evening."_

 _"_ _She likes you, Francie."_

 _Alviarin had shrugged in embarrassment. "She told me … how you found her."_

 _"_ _Oh." He frowned. Was there pain in his eyes?_

 _"_ _What happened there?" No need to tell him she knew Rosie had been talking about Little Rock._

 _"_ _A rock concert. People came from near and far. Never know who was already infected. Spread like wildfire. Then winter came."_

 _"_ _I came to Missoula, maybe ten days after the outbreak. They had held a town meeting. It was a ghost-town, wind blowing newspapers through the streets."_

 _"_ _Not everyone makes a good mayor."_

 _"_ _It was very good of you to save Rosie."_

 _He shrugged. "She needed saving. I was there."_

 _Alviarin had edged past him and out of the door, leaving the two damaged souls alone._

When Alviarin would have climbed up to check for a message even though the time was far gone, there had been people on the 'street', a car, too close for comfort, too scary to risk it.

Right, but for the current situation, she would need all her wits about her. Frank Salomon had returned – _the car yesterday_ – and the group that was watching her and the slender man enter had clearly been discussing strategy. The hair at the back of her neck rose.

"Francie. Lovely to see you again."

Gods, that voice. She flattened her hands against her thighs and glanced into the neutral faces. There was danger waiting here, she sensed. But not immediate.

"Miss Miller, your supplies are here." The large box half full with conductor plates, different tools and items and one large thin laptop computer seemed to puzzle Ryan.

Did he expect an answer? "Right."

"So it's back to programming, I am afraid. I still grant you the hour after lunch, but it will be added to your evening hours. This is of utmost importance."

"The new doors downstairs? Any specific order?"

"Yes. Start with the one on the right. Gordon will show you."

At her physical recoil at that name, Frank Salomon reached out a hand to reassure her. "I can show you - "

Alviarin pulled back forcefully. "Don't touch me." It had come out much sharper than she had intended. Her throat closed up. Ryan's too-clear gaze met hers, and she recognized something in his eyes. He had had the same expression last time down there before he had attacked her. Squaring her shoulders minutely, she struggled for calm. Said quietly: "There is no need to intimidate me further."

Greg behind her took a step forward and threw into the silence, trained voice dripping with sarcasm: "Not to be scoffed at, our engineer. I'll take her, Ryan."

That had been it, to the immense relief of the young woman. She had followed her wiry neighbor after grabbing the box, still feeling the tension in the room. Her ears sang even in the cold air outside.

"Thanks." She choked on the word.

"What's with the antipathy against Frank?"

Yeah, Greg had been an analyst. The way he read her was dangerous. "I don't like to be touched."

"Yeah, we got that the first time, but it seems rather specific with the guy."  
She managed a shrug. "He creeps me out."

One sandy eyebrow rose. "Sure." He held the door to the stairs open, but blocked her way. "Care to elaborate?"

 _Shit, did they all use that phrase on purpose?_ "I really don't."

"Francie… it seems to me you got history with him."

"Maybe it's a female thing. Ask Siobhan about her opinion of him." Her mind was still reeling, her heart still pounding too fast. But the finite tone must have impressed her reluctance to _elaborate._

They climbed the winding staircase, Alviarin with a growing sense of dread.

It was the single door to the left that Greg pointed out to her. The three veterans were already on site, again it was Chris who worked closest to her – ripping open the floor revealing the pipes that carried water supply lines, cables and other unknown equipment.

"Right, here's the guideline. They set up a table for you to work at. Electrical outlet is here." He motioned against the wall. "We expect this to take longer, it's a twelve digit code instead of the former five." His eyes carried the warning he was not forcing into her face. _Don't dawdle._ "And this time, if you think you're close, get me – or Ryan, or Gordon, you get my drift."

Alviarin frowned, but nodded.

"Hey, this is important. You're not to open the door alone." He refrained from touching her face to force her to answer his gaze, so she met his eyes openly.

"Got it. Any specific reason?"

"Let's just say that the bad air you encountered here was nothing against what Ryan suspects behind this door."

 _He was lying._ She nodded, glancing away quickly. Gave silent thanks to Chris with a glance.

"Any more questions?"

"Not at the moment. Thanks, Greg." She meant it.

His eyes warmed minutely. Though the warning was still there. "Get on with it, then."


	48. Chapter 48

"Hey, hacker nut." Wolfman found Valerie Raymond on the lawn outside the headquarter building. He liked how she startled at his sudden appearance, but relaxed after realizing it was him.

"You really like that nickname, do you?"

"Aye. As long as I'm the only one who gets to use it." He grinned at her. But her answering smile was weak at best. "You ok?"

"I had to get out of there. I'm not good at this, this waiting, wondering… give me a bloody problem to solve…"

"Patience is a virtue, Miss Raymond." He sat down beside her nonchalantly.

But Valerie knew to turn the tables. "Yeah, cause you're so much better with Alvi missing. I saw the way you looked at Slattery."

Wolfman grimaced. She was right, he could have strangled the commander. "Too bad he was right. We can't send a copter in blindly. Heard what happened with the newcomers?"

"No. What newcomers?"

"Came in hungry and scared. From the west. Told stories about a group flocking together near Denver. Organizing for the winter."

"So?"

"So far so good. But a few were asking questions. Got too close to the Nathan James. Too interested. Alanna – remember the blonde?"

"The girl-spy? Sure do." There was innuendo there, the australian was certain. He felt his lips twitch.

"She slipped in between them. Turns out they were after the ship."

"Why?"

"Heard about her. With her almost seaworthy all kinds of possibilities open up."

"Shit."

"Yeah. Had weapons and everything, tried to take Andrea Garnett and her team hostage."

"No way! What happened?"

"Alanna and Stephen alerted the XO, I mean Commander Slattery. That was it. Should have seen him and Chandler – in truth, everybody went berserk. What with the repairs, there were ropes all around the ship. And we know her, every nook and cranny."

"Nook and cranny. That's lovely." Val tried for an English accent, pursing her lips. "Sorry, go on."

"None of ours were hurt. Now we got a few more mouths to feed, but hands to set working, too."

"Jeez – I mean, they really thought taking over our ship would be that easy?"

"Hey, how much do you know about this Professor Lacroix?"

"Me? Not much. He's Alvi's connection. Why?"

Wolfman glanced down into the sharp blue eyes. "Ever notice how lately Chandler goes feral every time the name is mentioned – as much as he lets show anything?"

"Nah, I haven't. Though I haven't watched him much…" the way she trailed off had the Australian frown.

Val shrugged, uncomfortably. "Him and Alviarin, they got this ' _have you seen the way he looks at her_ ' thing going. She was so sickeningly happy. Now he just looks tortured."

"You've grown to like our Commodore, Valkyrie?" Wolfman teased.

"Oh shut up. It's just such a stupid thing to loose her over nothing we can bloody touch."

"Hey." He nudged her gently. "We have not lost her. We knew she has narrow windows to contact us. Maybe she was hindered in some way, or taken out of range, or the battery died. Nothing is lost. It took her three weeks to write, so what are three days now. Seriously." He nudged her again. And was gratified when she leaned her head against his shoulder. The chemistry had been there from the beginning – or maybe from that day on deck of the _Nathan James_ coming into Memphis _._ It had been fun circling around each other, something to look forward to after the sometimes hellish days of rebuilding St. Louis. It were small things like her looking for contact with the continent for him. She was so full of life, of fire – that was what appealed to him. They were alike in that respect. That he caught her looking at him when she thought he would not notice made for additional heat. She wasn't too bad to look at, either. That skin… those eyes. He liked her nose, the angular lines of her face, the gentler lines of her body. The careless, long-limbed ease of her movements. Not the silent, almost predatory grace of the Elf's lanky figure.

He let his head fall back against the wall. "Shit. I miss her, too."

….

"Tex, it's me."

"Andrea? Hey, blond woman. Nice to hear from you."

"How are you guys? How is Kathleen?"  
"Kitten and me are fine. Heading east now, will reach Atlanta soon. Weather is fine so far."

"Heard anything helpful?"

"Sorry to say, no. Though we've been helpful quite a few times along the way now. Passed word to a lot of people, helped rebuilding for a hot meal… stuff like that."

"Glad to hear that, at least. No troubles, then?"

"Nothing serious or lasting. You know me. King of diplomacy. But say, how's it going with you?"  
"The James is due her second drill trip downriver in a few days. Though we're considering putting that plan on hold – had a bit of a situation with a group of thugs. And she could prove helpful with this search for the Elf."

"Good to hear. Though not what I asked."

"… I'm good. It's lonely in the house without you two there. I sometimes wish I could have joined you. To do something. The waiting is what gets to me."

"Too much time to think?"

"I keep busy."

"I can imagine. Hey, something different I'd like to ask you. But you can turn it down no trouble."

"Go ahead."

"You can figure out where to find one of those fancy radios, right? Like the one you found for Kat and me. Get another one. For the house. So she can keep at it when we're back. And so we can chat the next days without the whole navy listening. This is gonna take longer…"

"Okay?"

"And while you're at it, and the James is still in bay, use her sensors to plot out the radio tower coverage as far south and inland as you can?"

"The Commodore asked me about this same possibility a couple of hours ago."

"Good. Big man still at the top of his game."

"Tex… you saw him. I had his children over the other day. His father is here to help. And still…"

"Yah… We're doing everything we can."

"Anyway, I'll try to pinpoint the radio towers active. Any specific area?"

"As much of Arkansas as she covers?"

"Will do."

"'t was lovely talking to you, Andrea."

"Same here, Nolan. Give Kathleen my best."

"Will do. Over and out."

….

"Mike, I need you to talk me down."

"Tom? What's going on?"

"Every fiber in my body is itching to grab the copter and go south. It's a flight of maybe four hours. We can circle the lakes. Something must be visible. We could find her."

"You could do that."

"I said you should talk me down!"

"Tommy, you're the better strategist. Talk me through it."

"Ah… the copter would alert them – though they must have expected us to look for her."

"We're the navy, we look after our people."

"There's the danger that this heavy weaponry she mentioned could bring the copter down. We don't know what kind of equipment they have."

"And then where are we… there's very few machines left to us. Professor Lacroix and the Canadian triumvirate would be rather unhappy."

"That would be on him."

"You never told me why that relationship has gone sour so suddenly."

"Can't."

"Something to do with the Elf, though?"

"Mike, everything else I could swallow somehow. But not…"

"Here, take a sip."

"You know it'll take more than a glass of whiskey to get me too intoxicated to fly?"

"Maybe. But your sense of duty will make it that much harder for you to get into that copter if you had a glass. Wow, slow down! Also, Tom…"

"Don't mention Sam and Ashley."

"You wanted me to talk you down."

"You did. All good."

"How's it going with Jed?"

"Good. One happy family. He – He's a bit surprised by how much the children changed in the four months he has not seen them." Tom Chandler was still biting down on every other word. It was slow work, to get the man to ease up.

"I wondered if you would be happy with me bringing him without warning."

"That was good thinking, I'm grateful to both of you. Was glad to hear Kelly got in contact with her brother."

"But you and Jed?"

"We've been talking about him coming down…"

"I knew about that. That's how I figured especially now you could use the help. And with him staying between you and the Greens, he can help left and right, what with the baby… He realized yet the Elf is yours, not mine?"

"Hah. Guess that must have been apparent, though… I never yet talked to the children about… you know. It's been hardly half a year!"

"You haven't told your kids you are… lovers?"

"I sleep upstairs, she has her 'quarters'. I thought to let us all settle in – we agreed to ease into it. Not much time for dating in this post apocalyptic world…"

Slattery was startled into an understanding burst of laughter. He grimaced. Probably some unease left after Norfolk, too. "Seemed very natural to me. Careful, Mhari's hard to deceive. She's observant."

"Alvi's been such a seamless…"

The former XO watched his former Captain press his lips together. Tom Chandler was seldom this lost for words. But he knew his friend. Let him speak.

The other man tried again: "Alvi was-"

"- is!"

"-is… a great addition to the household."

"Told you, didn't I? Told you she might fit in."

"Some dim memory…"

He had managed to make his friend smile. Mike Slattery nodded to himself.

…

"Got it out of your system?"

Tom startled at the broad figure in the dark living room. He had not expected to find anybody awake. "Dad – what's that supposed to mean?"

"Are you drunk?"

"Got what out of my system?"

"Whatever had you prowling the house."

"I had to talk to Mike."

"That woman sure got under your skin."

Tom jerked around. "We're not doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Alvi's a part of this family now. And if you don't like it-"

"Son - " Jed reached out and grasped his tall son's arm. "Tom. We don't always see eye to eye, but if there's one thing we agree on, it's your kids. You doing right by them – more than I managed with you. The way Ashley and Sam are now, the ways you changed… at least part of that is her, I can see that. So."

Tom breathed easier. "You thought she was with Mike…"

His father chuckled. "Partly your introduction." He sobered. "Thought it too soon after… Darien."

The commodore squared his shoulders. He deserved that – and his father deserved an explanation – of sorts. "It was. It is in some ways. But. She's different. She balances the old and the new world. Sees things. Says things. Looks upwards."

"Darien wasn't an ordinary woman."

"No. Darien was special." The pull of the pain inside him, gentled with time, with the Elf's quiet support. "Darien was everything. But she's gone."

"So what's so different about that girl?"

Yeah, the age difference had to come up. Tom tilted his head and put into words something he had not said aloud to anyone. "Alvi is different from Darien in that Darien believed in what I was doing, the Navy, the service. While not always happy with my absences, she believed in the fight for our country. She loved me for it. Alvi doesn't necessarily believe in everything I did, or do, or but regardless…" he found he could not finish the sentence. "She sees me, all of me. I should never have let her go." God, it hurt. Everything hurt. His dead wife, the slender slip of a girl, blue eyes, grey eyes – how could two women be so different, and make him miss them with the same intensity?

He found his father's hand on his shoulder, warm, comforting.

"Don't give up hope, son. She's resourceful. And strong."

A deep sigh. "I haven't forgotten what you said… about Noah and the Ark, you know?"

"Just that sometimes duty weighs heavier than anything. I know, Son. I know. What brought this on?"

"Haven't heard from her for three full days. We know she's in Arkansas somewhere, north most probably. But the data from the Canadians points even further south. Conflicting information. With the assault onto the _Nathan James_ and these rumours of warlords Mitchener is not going to give me a team to look for Alviarin unless we have specific coordinates. And I get it – it's crazy to go search for a single woman locked in a military grade compound located in a search radius of half a state."

"But it chafes. I get it. Go to sleep, Tom. You can be an icon again tomorrow. Rest, for now."


	49. Chapter 49

"So, Francie, how's it going?" Montgomery, Salomon and the woman who had sorted through the papers in the 'new room' were waiting for her and the three men when they exited the batcave at the end of the day.

Alviarin took a deep breath. The way Frank Salomon watched her made her want to shift on her feet, wash her hands, go take a shower… but instead she forced herself to stand still, shoulders relaxed. She had managed to withstand a furious Tom Chandler, and an angry Mike Slattery. This guy was nothing to her. Though he could seriously endanger their plans.

"It's been mostly preliminary work. Setting up the plates, the connections. I can't take the processor out of the door the way I did the first time." _Narrow, dark, stale air. She hated the batcave, especially now the days were getting so short._

"Why?" asked Frank.

She answered Ryan. "There are too many extra cables I don't yet understand, and I fear if I cut the wrong one, I might destroy something."

"Can't we just put some C4 against the door?" Again, Frank.

Alviarin felt her lips twitch in disgust and anger. "And destabilize the ground underneath that building even more? What do you think the three guys here are doing?"

"Wohow, young woman. Calm down."

"She's right, Frank. We've seen what that first explosion did. That's why she's here…" Even Ryan was scoffing at the other man.

Salomon shrugged, disgruntled. He half turned away, but Ryan scoffed at him: "You were gone a while, Frank. I'll catch you up one of these days."

Walther commented from where he stood: "Securing the main room was hard enough, we're not builders. These tunnels run underneath a few of the buildings, and under the street here. No way one could predict what an explosion could do. Plus… we tried tunneling into one of the other rooms. No chance."

"Patience, friend. Got to do this the scientific way." Greg alleviated.

"So you can't yet say how long this will take?"

"Sorry, no. The laptop is good, really good, all the right programs and nice processing power. Once I understand the encryption, I'll get to work." Alvi answered Montgomery honestly.

"Right. I'm putting my trust in you, Francie."

 _Whatever was behind that door must be important._

"Can we get some food, now?" There was something waiting, expectant in the older man's expression. Frank was eager for something. "Join us, you four? We could talk some more about your progress."

"Not me, I'll do my washing first." Alvi nodded at Ryan and turned to go, ears still primed to hear Walther say:

"Chris, Al, you go. I'll look for my wife first."

….

Alviarin found Madison bent over some clothes at the washing saloon.

"How are you doing?" the younger woman realized the urgency in her tone only when the dark skinned face turned to her.

"In a hurry?"

"I might be soon. How ready are you guys? If things get urgent?"

"Ready enough. I got some jerky put away. We have what we wear, mostly."

"Same here. Got a first aid kit, Rosie has my fire starter set."

"Know where we are, yet?"

"Not yet. Should know more tonight."

"Oh, it's nice to see you hopeful. All well downstairs?"

"Reasonably. Though this new assignment has me worried. Not for your men, promise."

Walt picked that moment to enter. "Hello wife."

Alviarin watched the two with a small envious smile as they embraced - strong, careful, gentle, warm… everything she missed.

"Say, how is your health, Madison?"

"I'm at that point where the last few times the relapse hit. A few days over it, even."

Walt leaned over, grabbing the wet clothes to put them in the dryer. "I've been bringing her the food myself, and watching carefully over both our plates. Maybe your suspicion was right."

"Lord I hope I wasn't. This place is creepy enough without people poisoning your wife to keep you?"

"Chris and Al are keeping their eyes and ears open, too. Chris told me about the knife?"

"It's safe."

"Quiet." Maddie interrupted them quickly, and everyone turned nonchalantly away from each other. They had the routine down well enough, Alvi thought to herself. The distance between her and the couple spoke of animosity. The door opened, and … she told herself exasperation was the uppermost emotion cursing through her. Frank Salomon.

"Here you are, Francie. All done?"

"What do you want?" She was unable to summon a politer phrase.

"I reserved you some dinner. It's really good tonight."

"I already asked Rosie to put something aside for me." She was aware of Walt and Maddie watching the exchange bemusedly.

"Oh come on, I'm just trying to be nice. Get to know you a little, since I'll be your delivery guy for the foreseeable future."

"I'm not interested." She couldn't put it any other way.

He lowered his voice, stepped closer. "To have me as a friend could make your life here easier."

Alvi bent her head, hiding her face. One step closer and she would explode into his face. The anger was what had helped her deal with his assault. She quickly wrapped her things into a wet bundle. Thinking of Tom that day on deck of the Nathan James gave her back some measure of equilibrium. She'd been such a child, then. She looked up at the man and said calmly: "My life here is just the way I like it. Please leave me alone."

Surprise passed over his face, and she was out the door before he had even reacted.

The darkness outside was very, very welcome. Her countenance would not have held up a moment longer.

…..

Alviarin took the plate of food to her flat, unable to face what served as repast room even with only the few stragglers left. Her hands threatened to shake, her breath came too fast.

Alone, she put the chair behind the door. And breathed. Slow, long, deep breaths. She opened the window, cleared some more space and went through her yoga routine. She had not dared any more exercises – no staff, none of the more elaborate jumps or rolls for fear of notice. The slow movements that regardless made her break a sweat calmed her down enough to let her sink into a meditation moment.

She had the words fixed in her mind while she climbed onto the roof in near total darkness – no lights meant less used electricity… and less visibility from anywhere, she suspected. The loose brick returned the little cuboid of hope to her now calmer hands.

This spot up here had become a scarily exposed place of freedom for her – freedom for her thoughts, her face, her hands. She tilted her head upwards – it would not be long until the clouds amassed enough to dribble the first snowflakes her way. She used to welcome winter… the much, much colder, harsher winter of the high north. The maybe safer winter of the high north, compared to the moist, cruel, all-encompassing damp of the warmer winters down south.

She summoned Tom's face before her inner eye – the broad-shouldered frame, the constrained control of his movements, the blue, blue eyes. The calm, intelligent warmth underlined with humor. The helpless laughter she managed to surprise him into. The heat in his eyes the few times she had managed to catch him unaware – watching her, with the children, braiding her hair, coming up for air from an exercise. How he fell asleep sprawled half across her. How his hand burrowed into her hair...

And the children…

Ashley, her way of holding herself so much like her father. Sammy, whose blue eyes were like those looking down from the big framed photograph in the living room.

Mike Slattery, lips pressed together in what seemed to be his way of coping, bear-sized frame towering over his daughter, so gentle and human and even childish with Mhari and Zach.

Wolf Taylor, who had become something of a brother, who honed her skills with the short staffs and even knife fighting, who had helped her figure out a routine of self-defense for the children.

Tex Nolan, bearded, scruffy, always there with a word of encouragement, of solace, of humor. Teaching Kathleen to handle a gun, offering the same to her – but Alviarin had refused, even though Tom would have liked her to carry one. Tex, who looked at Andrea Garnett with warmth and sometimes something akin to confusion, making Alviarin smile to herself. Andrea, who had grown accustomed to the flirting, the drawl, the thoughtfulness – and to Kat.

And Val, crazy, too-quick Val, impatient, passionate, hot-tempered hacker nut, as quick to laugh as to bite your ear off, they always joked. Who threatened to break hearts left and right, with women looking her way as much as men… she still radiated that. Alviarin grinned into the dark night. Though there was one guy who might win…

As always, her thoughts returned to those they had lost, those she was still missing – O'Connor, who could have become a friend. Her uncle Michael, the scientist; Andy Chung the engineer, her teacher on the Nathan James; the tiny baby she had comforted on that first lonely journey.

 _Look after them, brother, and hold your hand over me, too._

She switched the mobile phone on, breathlessly waiting for the changing screen. How long would the battery hold out?

 _Lake: Big Fir, 3 kd crystals, dense forest: oak, pine, cedar, (elm). Would head north._

Alviarin pressed the 'Send' button before she had quite finished with the wording. Placing the device in her lap, she put her forehead on her knees.

…

….

"Got all that, grey eagle?"

"We do. Get back to you."

Tex Nolan turned the speaker down just a fraction, and turned to his daughter. "See, told you. No need to worry."

"Does it sound to you as if she might head out anyway? Not wait to be rescued?"  
"Kat, you've gotten to know the Elf quite a bit. She's not the princess waiting to be rescued. I'm almost wondering she's still at that place."

"Must be scary."

"Yeah. Though she's resourceful." Tex kept his tone light. Kathleen touched the spot all the adults were worried about most. In the scenario they were living now, statistics supported the unavoidable unsavory characters' survival – and up-and-commence. People who did not hesitate to grab power, to enforce their vision, to collect followers. They had seen that with the crazy English guy. The repercussions from fuelling fanatic mindsets were still troubling the leaders in St. Louis. That time they had flown to Indiana the first time, trying to figure out a trade / exchange / support deal with the group flocked together in Columbus… that picture had not been pretty. He wondered how things were going on that front – he knew Slattery had passed by the new government on his trip south from Baltimore. And he and Kat might go down to Charleston to find the acting mayor there and exchange pleasantries. He'd see what…

"Nolan? Come in, please."

"Listening."

"Send back: _North Arkansas, Hot Springs / Mount Ida, north: hit e-w-trail (shelters), e 27n, w7n, little water! Copter waiting. Weapons?_ "

"That all?" Tex asked after repeating the message back to Taylor, who was manning the radio on the other side.

"Aye, though we'll wait if she answers back within the next minutes."

"Right." He pressed 'Send.'

….

…..

Up on her roof spot, Alviarin read the message with feverish urgency. Committing it to memory and deleting it were a matter of seconds. She could not wait to tell Chris and Walt and Madison and the quiet guy. But first…

 _4+ man flight def rotat cann, 3+ cars, ass rifl, handguns. Radio? est pop numb -500 Small radius._

She should have asked somebody the name of these rotating aerial defense weapons with wheels. Would they be able to decipher that? Some day soon she would break and call Tex directly, and the consequences be damned.

….

….

"Thanks, Tex. Over and out." Wolfman Taylor turned to the room, which held only Tom Chandler and Valerie Raymond. Three nights in a row they had sat here, full contingent, waiting, and nothing had happened. So this time the group had agreed that three were enough, and if need be the rest would be called.

The Australian put the strip of paper before the Admiral.

All three of them stared at the letters, trying to make sense of the abbreviations. Valerie choked on a laugh. Even Chandler's lips twitched.

"At least four manual flight defense rotating cannons. Taylor?"

The addressed shrugged one-sidedly. "Would concur, Sir."

"At least three cars. Ah, assault rifles. Got it." Valerie still grinned, exuberance making her eyes shine. This one was happy to hear from her friend.

"Handguns – we were expecting that. Gotta be careful about radio transmissions, and assume her radius of action and perception is only a part of the whole."

Val cocked her head. "Though knowing Alvi, it's probably more than half."

Chandler shook his head slowly. "There is danger in assuming too much, Miss Raymond."

Wolfman had turned to the map. They had pinpointed the young woman's location within a few hundred miles. Little was known about the general population of Arkansas. The bigger cities like Little Rock and Fort Smith were gone - people had looted what they could and moved closer to the Mississippi. The big river still suggested safety. And those that had come to Memphis to meet the _James_ had stayed or traveled further inland to spread the cure. Large storage houses gave supplies, the city had organized itself much like St. Louis had.

"Sir? What do we know about the place where Alviarin is held? What about the 'undermined' from her first message?"

The tall man's eyes burned suddenly. "Some kind of government site with underground facilities. Explains the heavy weaponry and flaks she describes. The undermined might be landmines, though I have doubts about that – this is the Ouachita national park. They can't have cordoned off large sections near Mount Ida or any of the crystal sites without attracting curios looks. Aiming for self-sufficiency in case of a national or international crisis, atomic or pandemic can't be kept secret. FFA is a good cover, but still."

"So there'll be a storage system like either of the safety bunkers in the arctic?"

"Not of that scale, no, but of a smaller scale, yes, I would assume. Miss Raymond, no word leaves this room."

"Wouldn't dream of it, sir."

Wolfman smiled inwardly. Chandler must know he had the woman's absolute loyalty, however much scorn she might outwardly display.

"Sir, don't mean to overstep, but how come this seems news to you?"

"Up to six months ago, I was a navy captain, not the president's Admiral, CPO. Secret safe sites were not my daily bread. And we all know that Mitchener was not high up in the hierarchy himself. As far as I found out, there are three such sites in the states, and two more in Canada. Only the few agents that knew about them are… not available to us."

Taylor nodded, absurdly pleased that the Admiral had answered so openly. "So how do we proceed?"

Chandler leaned forward onto his hands, placed on the map spread on the table. "I'll inform the president earliest tomorrow morning. We'll put together a team."

"But…" Val's eyes spoke of her disappointment.

"No, Miss Raymond. No jumping the gun. Resources are scarce, a rushed approach against a rather formidable foe, when we don't even know exactly where we are looking would be foolish. There are civilians to consider, too."

Though as far as Taylor could read the tall man, the self-imposed restrictions chafed on Chandler as much as they did on the hacker nut.

"Tex is heading southwest, Val. He'll be on-site soon."

….

"Sir, a word?"

"Chief engineer. What is it?"

"As far as the _James'_ sensors reach, and with Miss Ryker's position where you estimate it, I would say she is barely reaching the south corner of the radio coverage. There is one tower in Fort Smith that pings still active. But Little Rock is dead. Next one is Memphis. West is hazy, and the James' sensors don't reach."

"So you're saying even if she kept the phone online for long enough, you could not reliably pinpoint her position."

"Not until she gets quite a bit further north, preferably north-east, no."

"Thanks, Andrea."

"Sorry it's not better news."

"We're building up enough puzzle pieces. We know where to look for her. Just got to figure out the details. You hear from Tex?"

"Now and then, yes. Sir, I've been working with Valerie Raymond trying to sort through the providers' signatures. See if someone might be listening. So far nothing, but as I said, coverage is hazy."

"Good thinking, chief Engineer."

"Bring her home, Sir."

….


	50. Chapter 50

Alviarin stared down at the computerscreen with a frown. None of her efforts were working. She had sent the compiler through enough iterations that at least some useful feedback should turn up, but the results were either gibberish or nothing. Empty.

What was going wrong here? Twelve digit code would take longer, more processing power, no question, but all that accommodated…

She took a step back, wiped her hands on her thighs and rubbed them over her face. Sinking into the chair, she threw her legs onto the table. She had been edgy for the whole morning, slept even worse than usual the last night, and taken the first opportunity to relay the last message to her companions.

Al, the more slender, fair bearded almost mute guy, had started typing hurriedly.

 _Ouachita national park – trail goes west to east, over 500 miles. Shelters here and there. If we are really north of the lake, we should head east and north, hit the US65 and head north toward Springfield. If we are south, then swim. Both east and west are far detours. Danger of being caught in a corner._

She could still see the words etched in her mind. At least one of them knew more or less where they were. Too bad this part of the southern states meant nothing to her.

The young woman stared at the screen with animosity. On one side the problem was an enticing one. It challenged her on a level that had not been even stirred for the past two years. On the other hand, her subconscious was uneasy about something. And thirdly, how much effort should she put into the solving? Worst case, there were the weapons, ammunitions and explosives behind this door that Chris and Al believed to have picked up in last night's conversations. But how long could she string Ryan and Company along before she tipped the balance?

Either way, there was something she was missing and it would not crawl out of the screen at her. She needed to set up a different feedback array. Alviarin got up, snatched the tiniest screwdriver and disconnected the panel again.

"Hey, woman. You already skipped lunch. Take a break." That was Walt, startling her out of the soldering. His gaze was confused, warning.

"Can't. Need to have something – anything - to show up there. Bring me something to eat down?"

"Will do."

An while later, Greg and Ryan stood in the doorframe, Chris meeting her glance over the latter's shoulder apologetically.

"The men say your eyes are squared."

"Not that bad." Her heart was pounding unreasonably fast. Damn, she had not eaten or drunk the whole day. The two had startled her.

"What's the problem?"

"The twelve digit code. Here… I set up the LEDs for safety – double checking if you so will. The program is doing what I need it to do, I see that the feedback is what it should be. Right?"

Both men were staring at her with mixed expressions. But she could not stop talking. Her hands were starting to sweat.

"I can't figure out what I'm missing. I even tried alternating the order of the pings, in case there is a safety catch built in somewhere."

Right, her eyes were playing tricks on her. Sparks and dark spots. She'd been working in the dim light for too long. Taking deep breaths to calm herself, she let her eyes go unfocused on the open panel. On the back wall, almost too dark to see, was a company logo. She had noticed it, of course, but now… Sound, smell and sight sharpened painfully until everything was suddenly black and white, and she could hear herself speak as if through a long metallic tunnel: "Safety catch – that's a laugh. It's a full blown thirty-two-digit prime number encrypted lock. I'm not a cryptographer."

What was happening? She stood, her vision going dark and light, dizziness and nausea branding against her. Deep breaths, she tried to focus on breathing. But there was too little air down here, even gulping it down frantically did not help. Her throat closed up. Her ears were ringing painfully.

A hand gripped her arm. She flailed directionless at the restriction. Tried to say something, only gibberish. She could not hear herself speak. Her perception sharpened to the point where every tiny detail screamed for her attention, hurt – the brightly colored cables, the horsehead on the man's shirt, the dusty, chalky smell of the room mixing with the ozone from the overheating laptop. The smell… the sounds of deep voices bellowing at her, barring her way, enclosing her vision. Stealing what precious little air was left… air…

….

A long while later Alviarin slowly became aware of herself again. Her hands clamped around her knees. She was sitting on the cold concrete floor. Under… under the table.

Slowly she loosened her fingers. She was shivering like a… a… rattle snake.

"Feeling better?"

She startled, the dizziness and the nausea returning with force.

"Shhhhh. It's me. Chris. Calm. I'm not gonna get any closer." He was sitting in the doorway. "Nobody's gonna hurt you."

She swallowed convulsively. The shivering only got worse.

"You haven't eaten nor drunk all day, woman. Here." He gently threw a chocolate bar her way. For some reason, that was the last straw.

Her throat closed up, momentarily choking her, until she grew aware of the tears running down her face. Touching the wetness with icy fingers, she held them out to him.

"Wha…?" It sounded more like a confused squeak, but Chris did not even twitch.

"You had a panic attack. Started speaking some foreign language. Started hyperventilating. Hit Montgomery in the face." He winked at her. "Try to just let it all wash past you. Eating should help. I have some water, too."

Nothing he said made sense.

"No, don't dwell on what lead to it. Focus on the now and here. Eat." His grumbling voice calmed her a little. Unable to open the plastic foil with her numb fingers, she suffered him to come close enough to rip it for her. The first few bites were like cold, dusty straw in her mouth, but when the sugar hit her stomach things started to warm and gain color.

"See? Eating helps. Go on, be done with it." He offered her a bottle of water, which she would have emptied mindlessly if the large hand had not tilted it from her mouth.

"Slow, girl, or it was all for nothing."

…

Finally, a second bar later, Alviarin found her voice. "A panic attack?"

"Aye. Never had one?"

"No." It was true. She had no idea what had just happened. She felt cold… freezing even.

"Damn scary for you, amiright?"

"Shit, yeah." She had picked up too much casual swearing from these guys. "I hit Ryan?"

"He tried to touch you – instinctive move. Stupid. People can't bear touch when they're like this."

"Everything was closing up on me."

"It's different for everybody."

"What then?"

"Al and Walt pulled them away, I stayed. Watched over you."

"You've dealt with… this before."

"I have."

She was coming back to herself. His eyes warned her. This was not a subject for down here, where people were listening. What had happened? She scanned the room dazedly and her gaze caught on the open panel. The logo…

"Hey, I said no thinking. Stay with me."

"I know what…" There was a buzzing sound in her ears. "Twelve digit code…"

"Francie, look at me. Stop. I need you to let me pull you upright and get you into the fresh air. Otherwise you'll have a total breakdown."

He was right. She needed to… "Out. Right. Air. Sun."

Hoisting her upright none too gently, Chris led her past the frozen faces of Walt and Al, half-carried her up the winding stairs, out into the freezing night air.

She sat down with her back against one of the large oak trees. The burly ex-soldier hunkered down close to her.

It was the cold, fresh air, the clear sky that washed through her senses like so much clean water. Starlight.

"No sun. What time is it?"

"Past eight. Took you a while to come out of it."

"How did you…"

"Al used to have them… PTSD. His are different from yours, he gets violent, you pull into yourself. But him too, can't stand touching. You're not that good about strangers' touch stone cold sober."

She had to grin, but sobered with a memory. "Thanks for … everything. Keeping watch over me. Making me shut up just now."

"So there really was a reason, not just you sleep-deprived and stressed out?"

Suddenly the cold bit into her. "There was a reason."

Chris considered her, nodding. "Listen, we're good to go. Though don't underestimate this episode. Takes more out of you than you think."

"I don't think I can do another day down there. This... The enclosure…"

"You're claustrophobic?"

"A bit."

"Hey, I hate to ask, so soon after… but I heard Greg and Ryan talk… heard any of that?"

The shiver crept up on her, reaching for her fingers, her ribs, making her teeth chatter.

"Chris…"

"They were not surprised at the crypto-gibberish you sputtered."

"Thirty-two digit prime number encryption…"

The burly man grimaced in frustration, glancing back over his shoulder. "Here they come."

Indeed, to Alviarin's chagrin, the unmistakable silhouette of wiry, shortish Greg accompanied by who would undoubtedly be Ryan Montgomery were striding toward them, the light of the few still lit windows behind them.

"Feeling better?" There was honest concern in the melodic voice.

"She's getting there."

"Francie?" Ryan insisted.

Shit, she was not up for this. "I meant w-what I said. I can't break the code. R-rather put C4 a-against the door."

"Hey, calm down, young woman. Things might look different tomorrow."

"No, Ryan. This is impossible."

He seemed taken aback at her fatalistic insistence, or maybe her flighty use of his first name.

Greg tried to change the subject: "Was that the reason for this… episode?"

He had not counted on Chris. The burly veteran kept his tone neutral, his words biting: "Ye've been threatening her left and right, kept her working down there non stop – and she's claustrophobic. Ask again why she snapped, presented with a problem she can't solve."

Greg had the grace to look shamefacedly at the young woman, then at his friend.

She hardly knew how much she dared. "What's behind this d-door? Why is there such a so-sophisticated lock on it? T-titanium walls, t-titanium door, p-prime encryption?"

"None of your concern." Ryan bit down on the words.

Greg put a hand on his arm. "We'll postpone, Ryan. Think about it."

The taller man ground his teeth together. "I'm not giving up on this. Are you certain you can't do it? Given more time-"

Why wouldn't he let it go? "I'm telling you, I can't do it. There is nothing you can do to me that will make me able to decrypt a code such as this! It's called cryptography! I'm…" she managed to stop herself and take a deep breath. Her desperation was making her dangerously careless. "I'm an engineer, and not a specialist."

A coarse curse rose into the otherwise silent night air. Ryan turned away from them, kicked the floor in utter frustration and anger.

"Damn bloody Sherlock and his safety measures. I need the-"

"Ryan." Greg's voice held warning, an effort to pull the other guy out of his thoughts.

It made Alviarin reckless. "Somebody must have the codes, though?"

Ryan turned back, eyes black slits in a shadowed face. "Oh, all right somebody has the codes. The same somebody who blew up the mainframe in the first place. That's where the safety hatch was for all them locks. The bit that is completely ripped to pieces. The reason I finally had you brought in. The reason your precious friend had to die! Because we needed somebody who could…" He had closed in on her to the point that Chris started to move to deflect him.

"Ryan! Shut up and calm down." Greg's harsh words held an order. He jerked roughly on the taller man's arm.

"Oh, what's lost, Greg? All know she worked with the Navy. Hearing about the solar field at Springfield was what alerted Burt to her. But nobody's come looking for her. Nobody knows that we exist. Because otherwise... Either she's not that good, as she keeps saying herself, or they're so undermanned and underequipped, they're scared of us. She's not going anywhere. It doesn't matter how much she hears."

A new figure joined them from the darkness. "Guys, don't mean to interrupt, but you're attracting attention."

Alviarin pulled her half-undone braid over her shoulder, the heavy rope holding a measure of safety in it's familiar feel.

Frank Salomon twitched. He stared down at her in a way that made her exchange a glance with Chris – the bear had noticed it too. Well, she must be quite a sight.

"Don't want to frighten Francie here overmuch. What happened down there?"

Greg shrugged the older man off. "Nervous breakdown. Keep the people away, will you?"

Alviarin had already reached for Chris shoulder, pushing herself upright. "I think I'll head inside."

"Shouldn't the doc see her?"

Damn bloody Salomon for interfering again.

Chris tried to help. "And do what exactly? She needs sleep, and not be locked underground for days on end."

But this was getting dangerous – Chris advocating too loudly for her well-being would make the more aware Greg suspicious. So the young woman dropped her hand from the bear's shoulder, and nagged with as much annoyance as she could muster: "I just want to be left alone for a change."

It was blond Siobhan who saved the moment. She came hurrying over the street with the child in her arm.

"Greg! Francie! What happened?"

Even Greg seemed relieved at her appearance. "Ryan, I think Siobhan should take Francie home, and you and I can discuss the further proceedings. Sound good?"

The addressed grumbled something, still visibly aggravated. Greg motioned to Frank, who frowned in annoyance, but tugged the leader away by the arm.

Gratefully accepting the offered hands, Alviarin stood, nodded minutely at Chris and turned to follow her blond neighbor. At the corner of her vision she saw Ryan's countenance change like quicksilver, bumping his shoulder into Frank's.

"You may want to claim that girl, but you might have some competition…"

 _Claim her?_

It took Alviarin all her self-control not to throw up on the spot.


	51. Chapter 51

AN: This definitely warrants a T rating, for violence and mention of suicide and attempted rape.

"Nothing, Sir."

"Commodore, do you want me to try calling her?"

Tom Chandler frowned until his brows hurt. It had started this morning. Even before he could have informed the president of the new developments in Alviarin's case, he had been alerted at his home that a large group of partly armed people was heading toward the power station at Bagnell Dam. It was not clear if it was an attack, but it seemed they were heading to cut off any contact and transport. The station security – Jeter's troupe of youngsters acting out drills in the hinterlands – had noticed them and raised the alarm. Now the whole focus lay on securing the three power sources. No electricity meant a serious setback, especially in the production of the cure. Teams were constantly spreading the vaccinations. To be forced to take a break would have repercussions of erratic dimensions. But Chandler had managed to pin Mitchener down to tell him about the exchange of last night, and that the mission would take them closer to Alviarin's place of hiding. Mitchener had grudgingly agreed to give Tom free hand once the situation down there was under control again – and he insisted on resolving a few open issues about St Louis' city planning before he would let the Admiral leave.

Tom had ground his teeth, and taken a moment in an empty bathroom to calm himself down. It was the roller-coaster of hope and despair that numbed him. One step forward, three steps back. At least the notion of a trap was off the table. And now they were desperately hoping for an answer from his Elf, and no message came.

"Yes, try calling her."

It took only a few seconds for the reaction to get through.

"Nothing, Sir. Cannot be reached at the moment."

Chandler swallowed. "Tex, head toward the southwest at what speed you deem sensible. We are getting her back."

"But Sir… the President…"

"This discussion about a possible trap ends here. If it is a trap, at least we are warned. I am done elaborating. We ordered the helo from Dr. Scott down to deal with this group of people, and with two copters and three vehicles… we have faced bigger odds."

"Aye, sir."

"Mrs Green, inform commander Slattery of the situation. Taylor, Green, prepare for departure in two hours. Ask for volunteers. Chief engineer, take the _James_ down the Mississippi. Keep the radio equipment live. I will follow with my select team once the helo from Rachel Scott arrives. Any questions?"

"Sir, Dr. Scott… will she be safe without the helo?"

"This is a two way opportunity. She needs new utensils and raw materials, we can send a large amount of vaccinations back north again. As to her safety, she's well guarded. They managed to build a stable and secure clinic to work from."

"Good to hear, Admiral." That was Tex from the radio. From his surprised glance, Graham Medina had forgotten that he was still on air.

"Any more questions?"

"None, sir."

…

…

Tears of frustration and desperation spilling down her cheeks, Alviarin burrowed under the blankets and tried to still the shivering. There was no use risking the climb to the roof – not with still too many people milling around down there, with the danger of somebody checking up on her, and – she had to admit to herself – with herself weak and jittery like that. How she longed to throw caution into the wind. Anything to hear the rough voice calling her name… What must they be thinking by now, with her being in touch so irregularly. Had they pinpointed her location yet? North Arkansas could not be that big. Tom would know not to risk the copter with the flight defense weaponry around. A thought hit her quickly dimming mind – what about ammunition? The handguns and assault rifles that were being carried around by Gordon's guys had visible ammunition rounds - in belts and pockets around their owners' bodies. But the big cannons… were they one of the things hidden behind the _door_?

A sound pulled her back from the brink of sleep – a sound half frightening, half homey. It wasn't a wolf, but their smaller brothers. There were dogs around outside the compound. From the sound of it, quite a few of them. Wondering whether they would trigger or avoid the landmines, she fell into exhausted sleep.

…..

… and woke with a sound, sitting upright in her bed. No noise, nothing physical had started her. Only her mind.

She could not crack the code. No. But she knew the correct sequence of the twelve digits. She did not need the thirty two digit prime number. She needed nothing to get into that room.

 _It is a simple measure of security. Of survival. In case of another pandemic, or other catastrophe. I need to share this with somebody I trust, that, if need be, will gain the ear of somebody close to the top._

 _This is crazy. You hardly know me._

 _I honed your mind, my dear. I know how your thoughts run._

 _Why me, why now?_ It was useless, she knew.

 _Who better? I know you can handle responsibility. You think analytically._

 _I make mistakes, too. Grave ones. I was too slow to understand the first problem._

 _We are all human. You are our best option._

 _I'm not even a government employee._

 _Exactly. You are third party. And always will be._

 _I might just tell the Admiral._

 _You know he would feel obliged to give the information to the president he is sworn to._

 _So? maybe I believe in the president, too!_

 _Alviarin._ The French accent changed the way her name sounded. It reminded her of her childhood. _Think of the trust you brought, the bridge it built between our two countries. You know the triumvirate is not forcing the country toward a big united front like President Mitchener is trying to do with the states._

 _Are you trying to guilt me into doing this? I could not fulfill what Uncle Mike set me up to do, so I do this?_

The professor had leaned back, that enigmatic expression – not quite a smile – waiting calmly. He did not try to offer her an out, try to make her pedal back. He knew she had already accepted.

Shit. Ah – no swearing. She had to get rid of that before she saw the children again. But… she could not stay. She was no actress, and this might prove too much. She could not work down there on the other doors, knowing full well how to open…. Ah, but also what would wait behind the door. What could wait. Nothing to fall into the hands of crazy fanatics like Ryan. She did not want the full force of the navy destroying this place – none except a handful deserved to … to die? Who was she to decide something like this? They had to give those who wanted to leave the freedom to decide. That was what was important. Who else would want to leave given the option?

It was a good place, well organized. If not for the fence keeping people in that wanted to get out.

On that thought, she flopped down onto her back again, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come.

Would Tom pull the Canadians into his confidence? Would the Professor share with the Admiral what she knew? Would Tom be angry? Of course he would. She had kept a secret from him. But would they connect the dots that had sprung into her face this evening? That she sat on exactly the spot she of very few people knew to open? If yes to any of the questions – why weren't they here, yet? Professor Lacroix had to know the exact locations, no? What about the helicopters? Was there a possibility that somebody here knew her 'status' and she had been abducted because of it? But that somebody would have stayed in the dark, watched Ryan get frustrated with her efforts and kept silent… why? Also, then how come her name was still Francie Miller? …. She had to stop the thoughts running in circles.

…

…

The next morning, Alviarin found herself in what she had secretly dubbed 'mess hall' for her allocated two buns and butter and some pickled fruits. She forgot all about her efforts of a slightly befuddled poker face, when a group of acquaintances came towards her, trying to usher her outside again.

"What's going on?"

"Not after the shock you had yesterday, Francie." That was Greg.

Alvi caught sight of Siobhan, pale, red-eyed, clutching little confused Lucius.

Worry rose. Had something happened to her friends? Where… no, there was Madison, who now stood up and called out. "No, Greg, let her stay. She should know there's no getting out of here. We all had to face that."

 _What had happened? Chris? Their plans to leave?_

"It's our veterinarian. She took her life."

Dread settled in Alviarin's stomach. "The red-head?"

"Aye."

She turned to Greg, mind reeling. Ryan stalked toward her. "Francie. How-"

But the young woman held up a hand, unable to stand the so melodic voice, to grant either patience or grace. "This is on you. Both of you. On Gordon. This place..." her voice broke. She had spoken with the woman only two days before. "Are you sending _Burt_ out for a new Vet? Does Rosie know what you did?" She spat at Ryan.

He slapped her brutally hard across the face. "Hold your tongue, woman. You will treat me with respect."

Whatever he would have said, whatever Alviarin would have answered got lost in Greg's interference. Walther and Madison helped Alviarin stay upright, and the slender analyst grabbed his friend's shoulder.

"Ryan, this is neither the place nor the moment. Calm down. Now. Outside."

The madness in the dark-haired man's eyes receded slightly, but the glance he sent Alviarin's way carried a threat.

The young woman shook off the helping hands and glanced around the room. "Siobhan… what happened?"

"They found her early this morning. She fed the animals, then put her head in a sling and jumped off the paddock."

Sinking down onto a bench, she hid her face in her hands. She had conversed with the shy, brittle woman two days earlier. How could she not have seen the signs… understood her words…

 _They had stood in the cow's corral, Alviarin on her way to dinner after leaving the workshop… bursting with elation - her newly smoothed staff in hand. After a few nondescript exchanges she had taken a breath._

 _"You tried to leave, once." She had been so scared to ask the question, but sometimes you had to put your finger right onto the dangerous spot. "What happened?"_

 _"I couldn't do it. I stood at the ravine – it was either jump, or go back with…" a shrug, a painfully tiny, expressionless shrug. "I was not brave enough."_

 _Alviarin blinked, unable to summon an answer. She was saying to better jump than return here? What had Gordon done to the woman?_

 _"Young woman, let me give you one advice. I've seen the way you look around. If you manage it, don't get caught."_

 _"What?"_

 _"You're smart. Though you haven't caught on yet? There are very few single women here."_

 _"There are few women here, period." Her heart was pounding in her ears._

 _"Ever wonder how Montgomery thinks to expand his following…"_

 _"I…"_

 _"Being single here is a privilege. You're only single as long as you are very, very useful, and don't misstep. I did."_

 _"Misstep?"_

 _"I gave them an excuse. Don't do what I did."_

 _"If you had the chance, again, would you…" She did look spry, working with the animals all day would give her stamina. Though there were deep circles underneath her eyes. Still… Alviarin had to offer._

 _"My situation is inescapable. There is nothing out there I could return to." She had turned away then, her short hair bobbing in the breeze. She had glanced back over her shoulder. A wink, a dry, sad shadow of a smile, and the slender figure vanished around a corner._

"Siobhan, what you said that first time we spoke… Gordon… it happened more than once?"

"Francie, don't. Don't let Ryan hear you. Don't let any of Gordon's group hear you." Pressing the boy tighter to her chest, she whispered: "Yes."

Alviarin felt the tears pulsing – burning down the one cheek where Ryan's ring had cut her skin. "She was pregnant. _Inescapable._ He raped her repeatedly."

"He claimed her after he had brought her back."

" _Claimed her?_ "

"Shh." Walther put a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Go home, girl. Calm down. Things will take a while to settle."

Madison tried to offer a hug, but Alviarin could not bear the touch of anybody at this moment.

While she did marginally notice the people around, she did not see or feel the one pair of eyes following her with frightening intensity and determination. Did not see the long legged shadow stride after her with predatory patience.

…

There was a knock at her door.

Alviarin froze, nerves still raw. She had not heard steps on the stairs, but then she had been pacing and fretting. Her face hurt mind-numbingly – her eye would be swollen shut by now. Expecting Shiobhan or Greg – or maybe either of the three mechanics, she impatiently strode over and threw the door open – and regretted it immediately.

Frank Solomon stood there, eyes alight in a way that instantly had her short of breath.

"Hi."

"Mr. Salomon."

"Please, no need for formalities. Frank is fine. What happened to your face?"

"Ryan Montgomery. What is it?"

"Ryan did this?" He reached out as if to touch her eye. Alviarin flinched back. "I thought we should talk." He made a step into the room, right close into her personal space. Despite her efforts to stand her ground, he pushed the door closed behind him, crowding her into stepping back.

Alviarin squared her shoulders consciously.

"I just heard the news. I would rather be alone."

"Yes, quite distressing. Though what I wanted to speak with you is a different matter altogether."

"I…" what were her options here? Alviarin tried to calm her mind and think analytically.

"You see, _Francie,_ I have for the longest time now had the feeling that I met you before. A deja-vu, if you so will."

"You're mistaken." The words were ash in her mouth.

He spoke on as if he had not heard her. Reached out as if to touch her hair. "And yesterday in the darkness, when you pulled you beautiful braid over your shoulder, the memory hit me."

Another step back. "You are mistaken." She sounded like an automaton.

"What were you to say would I take this revelation to Ryan, tell him when I met you first you were in possession of a small, government issued Tablet PC, that was so heavily encrypted that not even our then up-to-date algorithm had a chance to get at it's insides… not that it would have helped much in our situation then."

He was looking out the window nonchalantly, relaxed and comfortable. Triumphant in calm anticipation.

Was there any use in further denying? "I stole that laptop."

"Did you now. You should know that Ryan, Greg and I were colleagues. Close coworkers. We had access to a lot of data, to personnel files, to safe sites."

"You knew about this place."

He turned and looked at her with entirely too much calm. "Indeed. Now. Set before that background, if I showed them this…" he put a hand in his pocket.

And pulled it out holding a small square blue-ish card.

"The name Rykers is one well known in diverse circles. Wonder what Ryan would make of that, Alviarin."

Her driver's license.

Paradoxically, calm settled on the young woman's shoulders. It was over. Her game was up. The license had been in her backpack. Her cheek pulsed.

"Why would you keep that?" For two years… Because of her name?

"Oh." He shrugged, watching her. "Probably because of the name. I believed we would meet again."

Alviarin felt her lips twitch in disdain. "You thought you would catch me again?"

"Maybe." He smiled at her. "Maybe I forgot I had it, and later held on to it for memory's sake." He pushed off the window sill, standing in the middle of the room suddenly. "Maybe because we have unfinished business."

He knew something of her fighting abilities. "What business." Again, the ash in her mouth. She wondered if she was fast enough to…

He gestured grandly, reached for the key, turned it in the lock and leaned against the door.

"What are you doing?"

"Unfinished business, as I said. I will admit that the memory of our encounter has haunted me for quite a while. You tweaked my interest back then, and even more now. You have changed."

"Please open the door right now."

"You were a waif when we first crossed paths, and now… look at you. I never knew I let an engineer slip through my fingers."

"Stop talking and unlock my door!"

"Alviarin – Alviarin, Alviarin. Such a strange name for such a beautiful woman. But a woman who does not know her place yet."

Yet? She was scared now. How to react? "My place?" She hardly recognized her voice.

"Your place." There was a breathless quality to the dry affirmation. "I can offer you security, from Ryan, from Greg, from Gordon. None will touch you."

"I'm not scared of them." Now she was breathless, felt lightheaded. _He_ was scaring her.

Salomon was slowly walking toward her now. "Ryan made this rule, that every single woman can be claimed."

"Ever heard of consent, either of you?" Too much sarcasm, too much anger.

"You'll consent." He reached for her shoulders. "Don't get me wrong. Your first impression of me is not significant. I had been on the road with rough people for too long, seen too much. As you had."

"I can't bear your touch." Shit, she should have held her tongue.

His face changed from intent persuasion to anger. He grabbed her shoulders forcefully

"Let me persuade you that I can be different."

"You're hurting me. Let me go." The waver in her voice seemed to egg him on. He closed in on her, bending down to kiss her. Too close, too close, her senses screamed. She wrapped her arms around his, breaking his hold and escaping – toward the door.

"Oh no, you don't." He grabbed her by the shoulder and slammed her into the room, making her crash against the small table. The pain made her double over. That was her bad rib. She fought to stay upright.

"I'm not the bad guy, you must understand that. But you have to learn your place. Things can get ugly here, as with the vet. She wouldn't understand."

He was coming towards her, and Alviarin involuntarily shrank back. She tried to keep the table between them. He made short of her hope by bowling it over, grinning at her. "No more games, Alviarin."

 _He knew her name_. "I belong to somebody else."

They were circling each other now – she could not let him touch her again.

"Forget him."

 _Never._ Her desperation made her reckless. She aimed her fist at his throat, her knee at his crotch, but he had been expecting her to move. Longer arms giving him range, he slammed her against the wall.

Air knocked out of her, she could not hinder him turning her around in a lightning quick move. His arm was around her neck, cutting off her air. His hand ran over her body, downwards. Her senses swam, but finally instinct and training took over. She slammed her elbows back into his ribs with all the force she could muster.

He grunted, kicked her legs out from under her. Alviarin hit the floor hard. The pain in the side of her face and in her chest multiplied.

The young woman found herself pinned under the man, her legs useless with the whole of his weight sitting on her.

His hand was on her mouth, in her mouth, the taste of him sickening her, robbing her of her senses. She bit down, earning a hard slap and a chuckle. She felt his other hand fumbling at the waist of her jeans. Panic threatened to take all the analytic strength of her mind.

 _Tom. Tom, Tom, Tom._ She managed a muffled sound. Blocking out the mindless chatter of the face above her, her desperately searching hand found resistance. She grabbed it, and with the strength of utter despair hit Salomon over the head with - a chair. Blood ran from the high forehead, and she managed to topple him to the side. Free of the oppression of his weight, she breathed for a short, delicious moment.

 _Free_. Alviarin sat up, feverishly aware of the danger the weekly moaning body posed. He was rallying. She grabbed the chair again, with both hands, and hit him over back and head. He lay still.

She jumped to the drawer where some string – presumably a clothes line – rested, turned Salomon on his belly and tied his hands – and his feet for good measure. Wrapping a towel around his head so he could not call for help – once he woke up, though that was not of her concern. They'd find him soon enough.

She dragged the lifeless body behind the sofa. Hyperaware now, she grabbed the knife, Chris' card thingie, her backpack, and found the locked door a momentarily insurmountable difficulty for her shaking fingers. Right, the phone. Braving the numb silence, she climbed the short distance to her thinking spot, grabbed the brick phone, and was back in the room, foreign now, within a moment. Her fingers were calmer. Locking the door behind her, the key in her pocket, the newly polished staff in hand, gave her that much more strength.

 _Tom, I'm coming._

Blinded by the sunlight, she padded toward Rosies's place. Her fire-starter set. The girl was still in the 'mess hall', or wherever. The lock on the door was the old-fashioned kind. Alviarin dropped the string over her head, nestled the stone and bar into her shirt.

She knew where she would find Chris – he had not been with Walther and Madison.

"Francie? Your face! What…" The rough voice almost broke through her iron hold.

"I have to leave. Now. I'll go without you if need be. I'll leave you the…"

"We're good to go. Al's next door – I'll get Walt and Maddie." He was calm.

Still in a fever haze, she knocked on the next door – found herself the focus of a sharp look on the more slender of the three mechanics.

"We're leaving now?"

"Aye. Grab your stuff."

"Walt and Maddie?"

"Chris is getting them. Do you have any food? I got nothing but my breakfast."

"We're all set. Calm, girl, calm. We've got our part covered. Chris gets the cars, Walt and Maddie the guard. You and me head for the wall."


	52. Chapter 52

Everything seemed a daze, a hyper contrasted daze, to the young woman. There was no gate to the north, but a part of the fence that lead through a denser part of the forest. Alviarin climbed the tree she had eyed for the longest time with single-minded tension, throwing her old, trusted, too large coat over the barbed wire.

Just when she was about to despair, the three comely figures appeared in the midday's shade.

"Were you seen?"

"No."

No further words were spoken, no time was lost between the five comrades. Maddie was the first to cross the fence toward where Alviarin was waiting by then, Chris the last. He threw the dark olive coat at the young woman, who wrapped it around her shoulders, regardless of the long, ugly rips the wire's thorns had left.

Without another word, Alviarin took the lead, eyes fastened to the ground with magnetic intensity.

It was starting to snow.

….

"Think we're out of the landmines by now?" That was Madison.

"There are no landmines." Alviarin pursed her lips in furious anger.

Walt grabbed her elbow. "How do you figure?"

The young woman wrestled free and kept going. "Heard the dogs last night?" She risked a quick glance backward. "Dogs not trained would not smell a landmine. No explosion, nothing. We've been following old animal trails for the past hours. Enough fresh spurs to make it safe. There are no landmines. It was a ruse, to keep us in check."

"But… that one guy…"

"I heard. Shiobhan told me about a foot found – in a shoe. That must have been Gordon. Trust me. The amount of deer tracks, even squirrels and a moose – there are no landmines. The buzz cut is the real danger here."

A long while passed.

"Think they'll follow us?" It was Chris, calling low from his position as rear end.

Alviarin realized she was being too taciturn and over answered in her nervousness. "Look behind you, Chris. It's snowing. It'll be dark in an hour. They'll follow us all right, but we've got a solid head start."

"Not only wishful thinking?" Maddie was tentative.

"Nah. Snow's coming down thick now. Covering everything. We're good for a half day at least. Ryan doesn't have that many men."

"Francie, how long do you figure heading north is safe?"

"My name is Alviarin – Elf, if that suits you, and I've been heading north- north east for the past half hour."

"I was gonna say the same, Walt. Direction is good, reasoning's sound." Al's more retained voice came from behind Madison.

….

Chris turned up beside her, some while later. "Hey, what's wrong with you?"

Electrically aware of every member of the little group, Alviarin had still moved aside when he turned up beside her. It was an instinctive move. Chris held up a hand in apology. "What happened?"

Her hand cramped around the staff until she heard her fingers crack. "I met Frank Salomon before. Two years ago. The red flu had just broken out. He…" She found she could not say the words.

But Chris glanced at her shrewdly, and nodded to himself. "So?"

"Last night, he recognized me."

"I was there – I saw."

"He still had my drivers license."

"Huh? Must have been pretty obsessed with you. Still, doesn't explain why you needed to leave. He came at you again?"

"Yes." The horror of admittance, the scene passing in front of her eyes made her shrink away from the muscular man. "That, and a few details he remembered."

Chris made very certain his hands stayed calmly at his sides, and that she noticed. "Are you ok? Did he… did he hurt you?"

"N-not in the way you mean -" her voice broke. Alviarin rubbed a hand over her face. She was a strong woman. Nothing had happened. "It was close. I hit him over the head, bound him up, stuffed a towel into his mouth."

A grunt that passed for a laugh. "Good for you."

"The bad thing – and that's why I would have left without you if need be – is that he and Montgomery are – were government men – spies, I guess. Greg must have been an analyst. Two years ago he – Salomon - found a computer on me that ties me to… certain institutions, even though I don't even define as an American. Either way, connecting my name, said computer and the encrypted door down there could become very, very dangerous."

"For you, or for us, or for more than this compound?"

"All three."

"Huh."

Satisfied for the moment, the large man fell back a comfortable distance.

….

Alviarin trudged on, hard pressed to keep her pace down to a manageable level for Madison. It was fairly easy going, but even so, they had not had any kind of workout, not to think about building up stamina for the past weeks – how long had it been? Four weeks? Five? She had lost count. Chris' questions had managed to lift the single-mindedness off her, and she took in her surroundings with more than cataloguing animal tracks and orientation points.

It was a dense forest they were climbing through, upwards mostly, at a gentle slope. Most trees were leafless; the floor soft with moss and dead leaves. They crossed a decaying road, a couple of brooks. The snow was already forming a thin white cover where it fell to the ground.

At the next little stream, the group halted, drank, and refilled the three bottles they carried. The water was icy. But Alviarin found bushels of water cress, which she foraged and handed out.

"How long till it's safe to stop?"

Alviarin turned, half exasperated. "I aim to head on until we hit the trail Al mentioned, or it's too dark to walk safely. We need to know where we are. Maddie, you've got the right to ask for a break, but… we've only got this head start. I don't know to interpret the weather here. Might warm up tomorrow or during the night. We'd leave a trail." How awkward she felt, explaining her reasoning. But this was what it meant to be part of a team. They were still getting to know each other.

Al held out a hand in a pacifying motion. "She's got the right of it, guys. They'll figure out how Chris disabled the cars. Remember, only two of the three were in. We need to get as far as possible. We only have a rough inkling where we are. Broken down paths don't help."

Madison asked: "I thought you knew this area."

"Planning a backpacking tour two and a half years ago and standing in the general area in worsening weather without a map are two different things. Elf? Might dial down the pace a bit, though. We're not in best shape."

Shamefacedly, the young woman nodded. "How's everybody's feet?"

Shrugs all around – she herself had the softest shoes. The bikers' boots took to the trek well enough.

"Al? I want to stay away from the streets. Agree?"

"Aye, absolutely. But maybe keep parallel to one that leads north-east."

"Guys, what to do about food? We'll need sustenance." Walther was worried for his wife, who was trying hard not to seem winded.

"You're a decent tracker?" Alviarin tilted her head at the more slender of the three guys.

"Been called that, yes."

She frowned. "No time for false modesty. Do you trust yourself to lead them on? North-north east? I can range a bit for nuts and berries."

"Sure. Listen… what you said about the weather. I'd say we're in for a cold spot. Maddie?"

"I would agree."

Alviarin shrugged helplessly. "Doesn't change anything. We'll build a shelter once we stop – there's enough wood around. We agreed? I'll look for food?"

"I'll go with you." Chris spoke from his spot at the back of the group. "Teach me something."

He saw her initial panicked response. Saw also how she suppressed the irrational emotion and nodded shortly at him. The bearded giant grimaced at her. Which reminded her…

"One more thing… the dogs we heard. I have not seen any fresh tracks. If they come upon our trail, and start to follow, we're in trouble. So, keep ears sharp, and also look out for sticks and branches that can be used as weapons."

…..

Alviarin and the broad man she still thought of as eagle-guy were fairly successful. Oaks grew in abundance around them, and every now and then acorns littered the ground. Rose hips stood proudly where the forest grew thin. Cranberries were too much to hope for, but a few oyster mushrooms and yellowfoot chanterelles could be found. Even a generous hazelnut bush let itself be harvested – it would have been a fair meal for two persons, but all in all not a bad find for the time of year.

"Think we can risk a fire?" Chris made sure to keep a safe distance.

"Depends on whether the snowfall stays this dense. If yes, I'd say we can risk it. If not, then no."

"Might need to risk it for Madison."

"Are you guys certain nobody saw you leave?"

"Chill, girl. Most came in after you left. Chatting and fighting. Those that left, headed for their homes, mood was downcast. Can't be certain of all the windows, but there was no outcry."

Alviarin nodded.

They caught up to the other three in sighting distance to an overgrown asphalt road. A flat meadow of a few hundred meters had to be crossed without any cover. On the other side of the road to their left a couple of houses could be guessed at, to the right, trees welcomed them.

It was a nerve-wracking trip through the empty space, across the painfully familiar tarmac.

"Here's a street-sign. Back in a sec." Al ducked to the side and bent low, jogged toward the houses. Alviarin could not tell if there was movement there, or if she was imagining things.

He returned, mobile face alight. "Route 270. We're east of Mt Ida."

"Here's a road leading north. Rest our feet a bit?" Chris had scouted ahead.

Despite Alviarin's misgivings, the group stayed on the road. The scenery was eerie – private houses, maybe holiday homes, spread thinly to be guessed at through the heavy snow flurry. But no light, no sound, no movement. No tracks any more, either. The path ended abruptly, and without comment they entered the dense trees again. At least it was flat walking for the time being.

"Fran – Alvie… sorry, what was that name?"

"Elf." She felt a smile pull at her mouth. Strange, how alien it felt.

"Elf. Did you contact your people?"

The phone! Alviarin almost dropped her backpack. How blind… no, she could not have given them anything.

Her fingers were unbelievably clumsy, switching the little brick phone on. Staring at the changing screen – did it take longer than usual? – she grew aware of the staring friends.

"Chris, bring them up to speed, and let's keep walking."

She headed onwards, half angry, half scared. The device buzzed – missed calls. They'd tried calling her? Her heart was beating in her ears again, her feet were less sure. She had a single bar of battery, and a single bar of reception. She pressed the 'call' button with real fear. And had to wait for the connection to build. Nothing. No reception. A few more strides, there was the bar again. Next try. It worked! She let it ring, biting down hard on her lower lip. How much time should she give Tex? Was it still Tex on the other side? How much battery would the buildup need? Cold was good for storage batteries, no?

She almost dropped the phone when the tell-tale click told her the connection was established and a breathless, rough drawl answered.

"Elf?"

"Tex!" She felt the tears sting her eyes.

"Keep talking. James is scanning for your signal. No names, kiddo. Never know who's listening. You ok? What happened?" There was a crackle in the connection.

Shit, she'd already spoken his name.

"We're five people, one weak from former sickness, but holding up well so far. Low on food, but with the snow water won't be a problem."

"Where are you?"

"Just crossed route 270, east of Mt Ida. We left a couple of hours ago. Heading north and north-east."

"Right, got that. I've got a rough map."

"Can you tell me anything about the terrain until we reach the national park?"

"You should have manageable grounds for a hundred miles beeline your direction. Thick foliage coverage, but no sheer cliffs or anything. You gotta cross the Arkansas river valley, then back into hills. Keeping to roads?"

"No, no roads. But keeping them in sight."

"We'd suggest the same. Listen, you might have to hold out for a few days."

"What's going on on your end?"

The older man could read her unspoken plea. "Small, time-consuming troubles. Things are fine, if very impatient on our end."

Her chuckle sounded more like a sob. "Battery's dying, range is bad." The white noise was growing.

A sound from behind her made Alviarin look up, following the direction of Chris' raised arm. "We're hitting an expanse of water."

"Kiddo, be safe. Promise to stay together, and keep the-"

Nothing. "Tex!"

The screen was dark. Disbelieving, the young woman stared at the device that had for so long brought her hope. Had it been long enough for the _Nathan James_ to pin their position? Wetness dripped onto her arm –

"No, let me." Madison wrapped a bony hand around her wrist, and gently took the mobile from her unresponsive fingers. "Elf. This is good. This is fantastic. They'll find us."

"It can't have been long enough."

"They don't need the exact coordinates. They've surely got maps, maybe even internet."

That made Alviarin breathe again. Val, Andrea Garnett, and Tom. They'd know what to do.

"Right. Thanks. Now we just have to keep walking."


	53. Chapter 53

Darkness had fallen hours ago.

"Hey. Elf. You lived this?"

"What do you mean?" She slanted a quick, inquisitive glance at the slender man. Al was a little younger than Walt, slender and not very tall, and the most groomed of the three guys. He was also the least conspicuous.

"Been watching you. Since we lost sight of the fence, you've come alive. Scared us a bit, I daresay."

Alviarin stared. "I have?"

"See it from our perspective. A scared, shy engineer. Slip of a girl. Quiet, intent, nerdy."

The young woman snorted. She remembered Tom's description of her trying to fit into ship-life.

"Scared you how?"

"The way you're alert to this dead wilderness. You lived in the wild. The way you move, it's not just textbook, it's actual life. A mate of mine, he got lost in the wilderness in the Ozarks as a teenager. Tiny Cessna, pilot had a heart attack. My friend survived for two months, before he stumbled upon some native fishermen. He moved like you afterwards."

Alviarin considered his words for a moment, the sharp dark eyes watching her. She shrugged slowly.

"Once you find yourself a part of it, you can never un-see, never not notice every tiny noise, smell, color nature has to offer. Never not be aware."

"I get it – as far as one can get it. You started out at a challenging pace."

"You're decent yourself. Ranger?"

"Thanks, I'll take that. I was SWAT… before."

Newfound camaraderie made them size each other up.

"Do you think there is a chance they overheard the phone call?" He asked quietly.

The Elf shrugged. "Can't disregard the possibility. We know only two cars were in, and Ryan has a radio at his disposal. If even part of the equipment down at the cave has it's equivalent up in his place…" She took a breath, then it broke out of her. "I am really grateful for the snow."

He smiled, a surprisingly warm and heartfelt expression. "Faith, woman, we are on the right path."

"You got family? In... what was it, Chesapeake?"

"Madison told you? Aye, my wife, Annie, and two kids, God willing."

They were interrupted by Chris' low call. "Elf, we need to stop for the night." He caught up to them quickly. "Madison and Walther need rest, and food. If possible a fire."

"You realize we are expecting you to work a miracle here." Al threw in with unexpected sarcasm.

The young woman shrugged with a smile. "That's fine. Though I would like to range a bit for a dry spot for a shelter. You guys with me, or take a break right now?"

"Dry spot? How do you figure?" Walther and the bony woman had caught up with them. Both looked tired.

Alviarin swallowed. She had been so set on fleeing from the compound, she had dragged her companions along without consideration. Now she managed a smile. "We've been climbing since we crossed the river. From the way the ground is changing, I hope to find a low cliff-side or even an overhang within the next half hour. Bear with me?"

Madison squared her shoulders. "Promise the half hour?"

"Yes. If we find nothing, we'll take one of these tall firs. But an overhang would be better for a fire."

"Go, woman. Lead on."

Encouraged by the glint in the older woman's eyes, Alviarin pursed her lips. "Sorry for going all silent on you. I'm not used to being part of a group, even less to leading."

"Not to worry, Jane, Al and Chris have been translating."

"Jane?"

"Lady Jane Clayton, Countess of Greystoke."

"Tarzan's damsel in distress?" She grinned and turned back. "Al, heard that? You guys got your stories crossed."

Bantering more lightly between them, the group found an overhang even before the allotted time was up. With the help of Chris and Al a lean-to shelter was quickly built, dry wood gathered along the cliff. And Alviarin's carefully filled tin boxes gave up their treasures of birch bark and dry grass.

Half an hour later, a small fire was crackling merrily, lifting the spirits of the whole group. A simple contraption of sticks and a heavy paper bag enabled them to bring some water to a boil, and throw in the mushrooms and spices she and Chris had found on their forage. Madison even produced a salt – shaker. They sorted out their food reserves and managed a reasonable dinner between them. Without speaking about it, most generous portions went to the older couple. Alviarin noticed Al and Chris both putting part of their share away – same as she was doing.

Now with the warm soup in her belly and the comfort of a dry and warm place for the night, the horror of the past day threatened to catch up to her. To keep her stomach from revolting, she forced her thoughts to strategy again.

"Tomorrow's gonna be harder going, wading through deep snow. Also,-" she glanced into the tired faces – "We ought to start trying to cover our tracks. If it keeps snowing, it's easier. But if it goes clear and cold, we will be easy to spot."

"Don't your people have a copter? Wouldn't a trail be easier for them to find us?"

"Not yet, I am afraid. Tex told me we'd be on our own for a few days."

Chris stretched his broad frame, but froze at Alviarin's violent start.

"Sorry - "

"Ignore me, Chris. It's gonna take a while." She managed a self-derisive tone, covering her racing heart. These people were no threat to her.

"Was gonna say if Al or you keep me in the right direction, I'll take lead. I feel better than I have for a while."

Al lifted his head. "How are you yourself doing, Elf? Physically? Your feet?"

"I'm good." She was wearing ankle-high moccasins. They would not last a week in these conditions, but she would have to manage. "My feet are always warm."

"Lucky you." Madison sounded sleepy. "Shouldn't we put up a guard for the night?"

The Elf wiggled her shoulders. "Been considering this. What do you guys say?"

"Al - you, me and her take shifts of two-and-a-half hours? Sound good?"

"You got it." The slender man nodded decisively.

Walther made an effort to interject, but Chris lifted his hand to silence the older man.

"Nah, Walt. You sleep and keep Maddie warm. You'll pull your weight tomorrow night, when we're done for."

Alviarin rummaged through her backpack and pulled out the two thermoblankets. "Here. Maddie, you slip into this one, and the other one we can use as cover against the wall or the floor. I'll take first shift and go collect more wood."

…..

"Walther and Madison asleep?" the young woman asked quietly. Upon returning with arms full of dry sticks, she found the two younger men waiting for her.

"Aye. It's quite comfortable in there." Chris had tensed when she had closed the distance and made a point of moving slowly. Alviarin could almost smile, if she had not been so aware of them both.

"The falling snow will work as insulation. As long as the smoke can pull up, we should be fine. What's up?"

Al made space for her near the fire – more space than she needed.

"Listen, you want to talk about what happened? Let me look at your face? And that rib you keep favoring?"

"I'm grateful, guys, but..." She glanced at them nervously.

"Between us we're pretty easy to talk to. Chris has a sister."

 _Greg telling her about Ryan and his sister…_ She found herself pressing her back hard against the cliff wall, muscles locked, ready to run.

"Right, right. Enough." Chris lifted his hands. "Alan had a different question."

Alviarin made an effort to breath out normally, grasping at the distraction. "Alan?"

The earnest face warped into a mischievous expression that made her smile. "Do I detect ridicule?"

"Suits you better than Al. What was your question?"

"Right. Here, I made a rough map of what I remember of this area. We started out from the lake – Mt Ida. Here is the valley where we cross the Arkansas river. There's a few smallish towns along the water. A small airport. West is Fort Smith. Further north is similar countryside to where we are now – steep gorge for the river, but fairly easy going otherwise. North of that is Springfield." He let the young woman study the sketch. "I'd estimate at least 150 km beeline from the lake – I'm calling it the Lake Ouachita 'til I'm proven wrong – to the valley, then another 300 from the Arkansas to Springfield. Your friend-"

"Tex." Her fingers curled around the fabric of her trousers.

"Tex said we'd have to hold out for a few days? We need a plan."

"Shouldn't we include Walther and Madison in this?"

"They need sleep more. We can fill them in tomorrow."

….


	54. Chapter 54

The next day found the five companions blinking into a white wonderland of songs. During the night snow had come down hard, but in the early hours of morning the flurry had lessened and now was more a haze that gave the impression of fog in the background. Alan had woken the group early, to fir tip tree with a few rose hips and dry rolls with a generous amount of jam.

"Who brought jam?"

The slender man stroked his beard and smiled. "Me. Stole it about a week ago."

"Good man."

Alviarin made to stand and leave the lean-to, but Alan blocked her way – gingerly, so she would not feel threatened. "Eat first. I don't trust you."

The young woman concurred with a grimace and found his inquisitive glance on her.

"Feeling better, Elf? Your eye seems better."

"I'm good, thanks."

"You forget I watched you sleep. How's the rib, truly?"

Now Alviarin frowned at him, impatiently. This was stupid, scaring Maddie and Walt. "Then you'll know that I indeed slept. I'm fine. I'm going out to stretch and look around." She could not have them worrying over her.

She walked a short distance into the trees to relieve herself. The woods were silent, in that snow-heavy way of utter peace. No tracks as far as she could see in the still darkness. A deep, secure peace settled on her. She was free as a bird. No more fences, no more weapons, no threatening figures.

Her face was still pounding, but less than the day before. She had packed ice on the cut and on her cheek, and the swelling had gone down. Her rib was another matter, it stung with every deep breath, but then she knew how to avoid that. It wasn't so bad as the first time, when she had awakened on the _Nathan James_ , with Tom Chandler glancing down on her with his best inimitable expression.

 _People that save my life usually get to call me by my first name._

The goosebumps rose along her back, and she felt the smile on her face. Schoolgirl with a crush. She was on her way back to him. His anger about the lie of omission would be something to contend with, but it had been an honest mistake. She had had no idea how relevant the information she had was. And even if she had known, she had to wonder if she would have told him. Her belief in this new president was sketchy. Alviarin loved the tall man with everything she was, but she did not share his dogged insistence in following the old protocols, the old constitution. In putting himself under the hand of a man barely his equal.

"Elf?" came a low call.

"Coming." She called back. Finding the four friends packed and ready to go, she nodded, aware the smile had not left her face. "Let's go, then."

….

"What's the plan for today?"

Alviarin was leading again, the staff a useful tool avoiding deeper snowdrifts. It was hard going, the white stuff lay up to her shins, and the floor beneath sometimes slippery. But the air was gloriously clean and cold and the light flurry promised to cover their tracks completely following Chris' or Alan's efforts.

Walther had posed his question directionless into the morning air.

Alan answered from the back. "Hoping to reach the Ouachita trail by midday, follow it east until we find a side path leading north."

"You're hoping to recognize the path in this snow…"

"True. But you know me. Glass half full kind of guy. Then we'll stock up once we reach the Arkansas Valley."

"Wow. You're planning ahead."

"Yep. Depending on what we find there…" Alan left the sentence open, an uplift to his voice.

Alviarin had to smile. She wasn't the only one with a boosted attitude this morning.

…

"There, that's it. We've stumbled upon a trail post." Chris rumbled from up front. It was midday, and the burly man had traded places with Alviarin, his bulk and sheer strength giving him the advantage clearing a path. "There's even a tree-stand. We can sit down for a moment."

Alvi watched Walther and Madison hurry forward, hand-in-hand, and took a deep breath. Alan came up from behind her, keeping a thoughtful distance.

"We made good time."

"We made really good time," she had to agree.

"You sound surprised."

"I am, a little. I expected more difficulties."

"Seriously? Fatalist, much?" Alan laughed at her. "That climb was difficult enough for my liking. Your side still bothering you?"

"Not too badly. I've known worse."

"I'm certain, Jane Elf Clayton." He sneered at her. "But be serious for the moment. Maddie and Walt can't hear us. How are you? Head, inside and out?"

Alviarin frowned at the man, the former police officer, she reminded herself.

"You need us to trust you, you need to trust us."

It was true. "The rib hurts only when I forget to be aware of it. Moving correctly and all that."

Al nodded, guarded expression still in place.

"The face hurts, the numb, bone-deep throbbing."

He did not move closer but nodded slightly. "Swelling's gone down quite a bit. You'll have a beautiful shiner by the evening. The cut is small enough. But inside?"

She considered him for a long moment. He had a wife and children. He knew about panic attacks. He knew about living in the wild. What she could not quite deal with was his earnest concern. "Guess for me talking is not the therapy it is for others. This-" she gestured around her, the trees, the lurking sun, the birds. "This helps me heal, frees my thoughts."

A grin surprised her, though his eyes were still serious.

"Guys? You coming?" Chris interrupted them, to Alviarin's secret relief. She liked Alan, and the other four, but trust did not come easy these days. They were stuck with each other for the time being.

…..


	55. Chapter 55

"Guys, I will have to leave for a few days. We knew this was coming."

"To look for the Elf?"

"Yes, Sammy, to look for her. Listen… there is something I would like to talk to you about, before anything changes. Alviarin… she is important to me. And she loves you guys, all four of you."

Ashley tilted her head at him, expression expectant. "We like her, too."

Tom let his head sink. This was more difficult than he had expected. "What I am trying to say is that once we got her back, I would like for her to be even more part of this family than before."

"I don't understand what you mean, dad."

"Yeah, dad?"

Ok, nothing for it but to push right through. "I mean she means a lot to me, almost as much as you guys."

"Oh." Sammy considered his words neutrally.

Ashley's face took on a stony expression. "You mean you'll sleep downstairs."

"That's okay, Dad, I've been feeling a little sorry for her." Sam piped up. "I mean us three upstairs have got each other, but she down here has… well, she's got Husky, but he's not a person, is he? And he's been sleeping with me most of the time anyway."

Tom exchanged a glance with his daughter. "Exactly." How to put this in terms Sam would understand? "And there might occur things like holding hands and even kissing, now and then."

"Oh."

He'd let the boy digest that.

His daughter let the silence stretch for what she considered a considerable amount of time, then she asked, somewhat stiffly: "Will she sleep upstairs, too?"

Tom took a breath. But Sam saved the moment.

"She doesn't like to enter your room, Dad. Says it's also mum's room."

Tom managed a semblance of a smile, but his eyes went to Ashley. "I think it's gonna take a long, long while before Alvi will sleep in my bed. For both of us, for the four of us."

The willowy girl relaxed a fraction.

"What I need you guys to understand is that I loved your mother very much." He had to swallow. "Still do. Nobody could ever take her place, not with me, not with you. Alviarin - but she'll tell you herself – she doesn't mean to… to replace Mum."

"But?" Ashley's word was harsh.

"She is good for me. She gives me strength."

The girl turned her head toward the large glass windows. "She makes you laugh."

"That's true!" It was a bit of a revelation for Sam.

So the siblings at least did not talk about the two of them between them, Tom thought.

"I think I saw you hold hands, once." Sammy was frowning in memory. Ashely glanced at him in annoyance but refrained from comment. She turned to her father.

"What if we're not okay with this, with you two together as boyfriend and girlfriend? Would you send her away?"

Tom bit his lip. It was a valid question, one he had dreaded. But the way his daughter was regarding him, dead serious, challenging him, lips set stubbornly, made him proud of her.

"Ash… things would get complicated, then, because Alviarin herself would leave. As I said, she means almost as much to me as you guys. Of course I would prefer it if you could accept her as my girlfriend, but if you need more time, we'd find a different way."

His daughter relaxed, held his gaze for a long moment, then tilted her head.

The boy quit brooding over some point he had considered during their exchange, then said: "As long as you sleep downstairs, and things go back to the way before, I'm ok with you holding her hand. Just, the kissing…" he grimaced, perfectly serious.

Tom felt hard pressed to maintain a contemplating expression. Even Ashley had to chuckle.

"Yeah, Dad, keep the kissing down to a minimum, and we're good."

"You guys don't have to decide right now. Sleep on it, think about it, even change your mind during the next week. Just promise me we'll keep talking about this."

"With the elf, too?"

"Of course with Alvi too! That's the point! She loves you, all four of you."

Sam had come to a conclusion of his own. "For if you went to meet her, I mean if she lived somewhere else, you'd go see her in the evenings, right? Like you used to go on date nights with mum."

"Right…?"

"And then you wouldn't be at home. I-" he grinned generously at his dad, and his sister. "I would rather have you here at home, in case I have a nightmare."

Tom hardly had a moment to ruffle his boy's dark hair.

"But Dad, it doesn't make sense. She, I mean Alvi, the way she answers our questions, helps us remember Mum, calms us down after a bad dream… she knows… I mean…"

Ah, it hurt so bad. "You mean she knows how much you miss your Mum?"

"And how much you miss her, Dad. She said you wish you could have saved her."

Ah, she'd said that? "Ash, Sam, dearest, of course I wish I had been those hours earlier to have saved mum, or even just to say good bye! If Mum were here, Alvi… would never be my girlfriend. Understand that? There is a whole world between your Mum dying and Alviarin and me even… meeting."

Silence followed his passionate words.

Ashley yawned unconcernedly. "I'm not accepting without reservations, but we can talk about this when Alvi's back."

Sam glanced at his sister like she resembled an alien. "I'm ok with it, I mean – you and her, Dad. I guess. As long as she comes back. And we get to all snuggle in her bed. That would be nice."

There was a short moment, Tom thought, that Ashley would have liked to agree with her brother, but she withstood the temptation and receded into her teenage self. She was almost fourteen, now. He nodded to himself. This had gone better than he had dared to hope.

"Right. Off to bed, you two monkeys."

Tex Nolan's phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Who is this?"

"It's me, Nevada." The exhilaration in her voice.

"Elf! Thank God! Where are you? Are you ok?"

"We're in Clarksville, Arkansas valley. All well so far. Stacking up on food and what equipment we can find. Tex, the roads north – the two we considered taking – are blocked. We'll try to take a car for a bit into the mountains, but fear we'll be forced to head on on foot."

"Head further east?"

"Don't dare to. Too much open country, too few cars. They'd pick us up too easily."

"Can you tell where we might pick you up?"

"We found a map. I might be able to send rough coordinates. Likely direction of Jasper. But reception is really sketchy."

"They destroyed the tower in Fort Smith."

"They?"

"Or it fell by itself. There aren't any of the strong towers left. The local ones don't cover much ground."

A pause, while the elf digested these news.

"Tex, they knew we'd head north. Had the few people that still live here scared to talk to us. An old woman told us cars came through, threatening, promising. I fear the road east and to Fort Smith might be blocked, too."

"They really want you back."

"Or dead. They are former government people."

"Elf, help's on the way. Was held up because of a threat to one of the stations, the one farther north."

"Got it. Still fighting on too many fronts?"

"Exactly. But your big man is coming down as soon as that situation is in hand. Which will be soon. He's got a copter. As soon as we knew where you were we started rolling."

Was that a sob? He'd never seen the girl desperate.

"Faith, Elf, or Spirit, or whatever you pointy-eared people pray by."

She chuckled. A thought hit him. "Wait, what phone is this?"

"We broke into the airport. This is an old military grade blackberry that uses the satellites. I get reception every fourteen hours or so."

"Ah. Andrea would know what you are talking about. Listen, kiddo, Kat and me are closing in."

There was a noise in her background.

"Shit. Tex, I gotta go."

"Expecting you in seventeen hours, Elf!" Shit? When had Alviarin picked up casual swearing like that?

"And so we meet again."

Alviarin found herself go cold and calm down to an icy level in the face of her abductor. "Guess we both knew this day would come."

"You tried. Came really far, too. But that's over now. You will come back with me."

He was so calm, so detached, so certain. But then the first time he had taken her unawares, at gunpoint, and then used her shock at O'Connor's death to drug her.

"Where are the other four?"

"We parted in Clarksville."

She was aware now. There was nobody to kill – not that he knew of anyway. She would not go back, and she would not betray…

"So, are you coming quietly?" He leered at her. "Or shall I make you squeal?"

"You killed my friend." The young woman squared her shoulders and gripped her staff tighter. "Try me."

….


	56. Chapter 56

"Sir, look. Tracks."

Tom Chandler stared hard at the moonshiners' little cabin for a long moment. There was no movement behind the blind windows. The tracks in the slushy mud were of soles that seemed very unsuitable for this weather. There had been a serious effort of concealing them, but here under the overhang, safe from the still falling snow… or too little time had passed. He made a decision.

"Yo there, the cabin! Somebody in there?"

A muffled sound came from the building.

Moving forward quickly and silently, the group hesitated in its usual formation by the door. Taylor exchanged a glance with Chandler, who nodded, gun at the ready. The Australian kicked the door in, and both men had their weapons up before the wood hit the wall.

"Should've known you'd know to make an entrance, mon Capitan." The voice was weak, and tired, but carried humour.

Chandler felt an uplift to his emotions that threatened to push moisture into his eyes.

"Tex Nolan?"

He shouldered the weapon and crossed the single room with two strides, kneeling down beside the make-shift bed. Nolan's head was heavily bound up, his right hand wrapped in gauze. The left one stretched toward the captain, after he had let slip to the floor his trusted revolver.

"Tom. Good to see you."

"Tex! We saw you fall!" He searched the other man's face intently, the scanned his reclining body. The grip of his hand was strong. Nolan was lying on a threadbare blanket that probably had been left in the cabin. But wrapped around him was a… no, two Thermoblankets. Those Chandler would recognize everywhere. There was a skillful seam on the one that made his fingers itch. He had touched that seam endlessly. His throat closed up.

"Alviarin?"

"Aye, sir."

"How are you?"

"Pretty banged up, probably a concussion; leg's bad. But nothing life-threatening. Elf patched me up. She left a while ago."

She left? "What can you tell us?"

"I lost my com during the fall. She meant to go find her friends to get help."

"We thought you lost when we could not reach you. Where is Kathleen?"

"Left her with the bike and her gun off the road a bit to the north."

"The Elf. Where are these … friends of hers?"

"A group she escaped with. Two men and an older couple. Vets, bikers. Said she had them holed up to the south along the river in a cave somewhere. Studied my map for quite a while. Wait, what she told me of the enemy…" Tex grimaced, body cramping around a coughing bout.

Tom glanced around at the dark silhouettes of the other men. Taylor stood at the door, his face changing between hope and worry. He had already thrown down his backpack, rummaging around for his food rations. Tom could just see Green outside, securing the perimeter.

He tilted the water bottle to Tex's bearded mouth, who drank gratefully.

"Where are you at, information wise?"

Chandler answered quickly. "Last I heard, Alviarin had phoned you they were leaving Clarksville heading north. Roads blocked by these people, the radio-tower in Fort Smith down – presumably by these people. And then you sent coordinates to Andrea two days later. That's roughly where we are. We came just to watch your altercation with that man, and saw him shooting you – and you go down over the edge. He was too quickly out of sight for Green. Were too far away and had the ravine between us."

"That boy's gone soft. Might be for the better, that the enemy doesn't know you're here. He missed, or I turned, or both, but the fall…"

"Quiet, old man, you're safe now. Don't move too much."

"I'll give you that old man. The Elf carried me here – must have, I have no memory. Just waking up with those beautiful grey eyes bent over me."

Tom's grin came effortless. Those were _his_ beautiful grey eyes to gaze into. "She still got that phone?"

"Nope, left that with me. She was adamant." Tex held up the piece of equipment with an apologetic shrug. "Tom… these people… they're ruthless. This guy shot me without hesitation. She was scared – maybe not of him specifically, but of the group hunting her."

The Admiral nodded grimly. "Warning received."

"Also…" A strong hand rubbed over the tired face. "She believed she might have been seen dragging me here. She went to pull whoever it was away from here. Get rid of the tracks."

"Did a great job, that woman." Wolfman Taylor grunted from the doorway. "There's the one tread she missed. Otherwise we might have passed you by. Sir?"

"Taylor?"

"How did they know where Alviarin would be? Could they be listening in?" Wolfman had followed the conversation intently.

Tex Nolan grunted, suppressing an oath. "I forgot. She said they were former government people."

Tom ground his teeth together.

"That means everything Alviarin sent, even from this blackberry, might be compromised. We have to assume they know exactly what we know. Down to the coordinates."

"Tex, it's right good to see you. Gave us quite the fright. But…Sir, how do we proceed?"

Tom stood slowly, sweeping the room with his gaze. "Leave you two men, and track Miss Rykers. Taylor, you with me?"

"Aye, Sir. Green, too. We've got two hours of daylight left."

Tom frowned slightly. "Tex, you can track us via the GPS, and get back to us should the Elf or Kat get back to you. Your daughter would not head out alone, would she?"

"No. Already talked to her." Nolan held up the phone he had received from Alviarin. "The phone Kat has is encrypted. Should be safe enough, right?"

Wolfman Taylor handed the reclining man his com and his food rations. "Remember to change the frequency ever forty minutes."

Outside, Tom Chandler instructed the two soldiers to eliminate all the tracks they could find and set up a perimeter – not disregarding the overhang.

Then he, Wolfman Taylor and Danny Green started out. They picked up the young woman's trail easily.

….

They may have picked it up quickly enough, but following it once they reached the crest of the river gorge was a different issue. The floor was rocky here, then interspersed with regions where the trees edged toward the crevice until their roots dangled in the emptiness. Even hurrying along following the river's bending and meandering, the going was slower than Tom Chandler would have liked.

After a while the tracks turned away from the edge of the deep crevice the water had cut into the stone, and headed south directly.

"Track's different here. Like she's more certain of herself. Maybe that she lost her tail?"

"We saw nothing of a follower. Nor of the guy that shot Nolan."

"What if it's one and the same?"

The sun was almost gone when they came upon a second track.

"Wolfman, tell me what you see." Tom found his jaw aching with the effort to speak calmly.

"This is the same person. Assuming it is Alviarin, then she returned on her own trail a few hours later and split away toward the river here."

"Green, anything to add?"

"No, Sir. But why?"

"I read the same. Why is she still alone?"

Wolfman glanced uneasily around. "Which do you want to follow, Sir?"

Chandler pressed his lips together. "The fresh one."

"Aye."

No word passed between the three men, tension was mounting anyway. They all felt that the situation had to come to a point soon. They could see the edge of the gorge looming in the distance with it's white bare stone.

"Got something." Wolfman stopped short. "Danny, circle around, far, farther out. – 'Bout now. What do you see?"

"Tracks. Coming towards you. No effort to hide. Well defined profile. Broken twigs. And there."

The sun was down, but the twilight gave enough light. Tom could see the upturned earth, the broken grass, the twigs.

"So a second person comes upon her. Stand-off, she rested her staff here-" he pointed to the indentations of a round object with the diameter of about two fingers, "and here. And then he attacks. See – where the toes of his boots burrowed into the moss."

Green and Chandler circled the Australian slowly, letting him describe the scene the unruly floor was painting.

"They fight. His gun flies, rested here. There are marks of her staff, her shoes, even her hand here. His boots everywhere, a knee, maybe an elbow. And - " he broke off, stiffened. All three men had heard the sound. Wolfman bent down to retrieve a long, narrow item from under his foot.

A short groan was everything Tom Chandler's lungs could manage. The tall man hesitated too long to even look at what the Australian was offering him.

Alviarin's hair-pin. The one he had given her before she left. The narrow blade was darkly encrusted with what could only be blood.

"My god." There was a large spot of darkened earth and beside it, half pressed into the soft mud by a footprint, the wooden sheath of Alviarin's hairpin.

Following the path of destruction, they had slowly moved toward the ridge. Now Danny took a step to the side and bent down. "Sir." He held up a staff of oak, twice the length of his legs. It was thinner than the one Alviarin used to work with, and roughly carved… but who else would carry a staff out here. Dark marks on it, too.

"No." Tom Chandler grabbed the torch from his belt and headed for the gorge.

"Careful, Sir. Might be slippery."

All three were shining the bright torches at the edge, looking, searching, desperate now. Taylor had the presence of mind to order Danny Green back into the darkness, away from the edge, from the cones of light, to secure their backs.

Returning to the edge, the Australian almost wished he had not turned at all. He did not want to be the one to find another clue. "Sir. Recognize this?" It was a piece of one of the two plaid flannel shirts Alviarin had taken to wearing. Tex Nolan had gotten them for her. A long, ugly rip, a streak of dark brown where no color should be.

"Look here." Chandler's voice had lost all tone.

Wolfman turned, to see his Admiral down on one knee, focused stonily on a rocky outcrop. It took the martial fighter a long moment to realize what exactly was slowly wafting to and fro in the evening breeze.

"She hit her head here."

A thin skein of the dark amber hair was stuck to the rock by the same dark crust that also had covered the slim blade.

He reached out to touch the silky fibers, but Chandler's hand shot out. "Don't."

The blue eyes were glittering in the near darkness, like moonlight on a knife's edge.

He backed off. "Sir… We don't know…" She must have gone over the edge.

Lost for words, Taylor lay flat on his stomach, crawling forward until he dangerously overbalanced. Shining his torch down into the ravine against all common sense, he nonetheless found the beam of light catching on something that made him drop his head to the rough ground. "Her coat. That overlarge ranger's coat she always carried." The garment was caught on an outcropping.

Seeing that the tall man hardly twitched at his words, Wolfman turned toward the still silhouette of Danny. "Mate, the rope." His own voice was toneless.

Green came forward slowly, his whole posture betraying that he understood what the two men had found.

"No, Wolf. No rope."

Even Chandler moved at the steely tone.

"Sir. Wolf. We all studied the map. We know where we are. The drop here is too deep. The crevice is too narrow, the bottom inaccessible in ideal conditions."

The three men stared at each other in turn, one standing, one kneeling, on lying on his belly almost over the edge still. It was a silent moment of utter helplessness.

Wolfman finally pushed himself into an upright position. His torch was the last one still shining harshly into nothing. He switched it off.

…..

Into the silent vigil came the crack of static and Tex' voice. "Eagle, you there?"

Green seemed the only one functioning. "Come in."

"One of the Elf's group just turned up here. Seems she sent them upriver on the water's edge."

"Only one?"

"The other three are coming slowly because of a twisted ankle. Found any sign of Alviarin yet?"

Green cleared his throat twice before he pushed the button. "She's gone. We're coming back. Over and out."

Admiral Chandler turned away from them both.

Wolf dared to break the silence, not wanting to let it stretch for too long. "We are coming back at first light tomorrow. Climb down from here or follow the water. Bring the helo in. We'll find her."

"Too late." Tom Chandler's voice, thrown downwards into the wind, would have made the stones weep. Wolfman would have given much to know what to say.

"Did any of you think to look for tracks going out?"

"No, Sir. Though I daresay we would have noticed any."

"Is it possible they both fell?"

Had Alviarin taken her attacker with her? Wolfman saw his own insides mirrored in the grim pain in his commanding officer's face.

"Taylor-" Chandler was good at compartmentalizing, but Wolfman knew the other man well enough by now. He was holding on by a hairs breadth. "Those tracks coming in, the pronounced profile…" He frowned in thought.

"Sir, I can't follow them now. Not the way…" not trying to come to grips with what they had found. "At night, dense forest, I`d struggle in best conditions." They had not slept for the past twenty hours. "And Sir, we don't know into what we'd follow those tracks."

The Admiral had already considered that. He shook his head in one minute display of frustration.

….


	57. Chapter 57

The moonshiner's cabin was crowded with the four newcomers. Tom Chandler looked at the three bearded men and the dark-skinned woman, greeted them wordlessly, and found Tex Nolan's eyes fixed on his face. No words were necessary. When the wounded man turned to Green for an explanation, face splintering into fractures, the four strangers glancing from one to the other in worried confusion, Chandler left the cabin.

Half an hour later Wolfman joined him.

"She must have been in a mirror-inverted position to us to see Tex fall – probably down on the bottom of the ravine. Brought him here and patched him up, and left, securing him and her friends. The Elf sent these people downriver. There is an old trail in the ravine. It tunnels through the rocks at that spot where… where the bottom is inaccessible. She'd scouted all that out and was returning the different way, making certain nobody was following her, or them. We missed her by a few hours. She had planned to have the large man, Chris, help her carry Tex, the other two would support the older man with the ankle. They were going to meet with Kat, and either find a car, or shuttle them all out with the bike, until we came in to save the day. Sir, there was nothing we could have done."

"We could have been faster."

Taylor squared his shoulders, alerted by a crack somewhere in the distance. "Forgive me for speaking so freely, but Sir, your orders at the Bagnell station could be called reckless. You pushed us down here at neck-breaking speed. Nobody's complaining, mind. But… there is no period of time where we could have saved those few hours. My head's been running in circles. Even had we started out the night before, like Val would have us, we'd have had to return to Bagnell once those news came in. You know that."

There was nothing the older man could answer. Taylor had the right of it, but still. He leaned his head against a branch.

"There was a time I was wary of you, Wolfman Taylor."

"Concerning Alviarin?"

"Yes. You seemed to connect on so many levels."

"Sir… there may have been a time – on the _James -_ I was considering making a move on her, and then I saw her look at you. Saw you look at her. She is a better little sister to me anyway." He broke off suddenly, aware of the mistake in his words. _Was._

Tom burrowed his hands into his pockets.

They had been speaking in the lowest of whispers, and when the crack of static came from the Admiral's com both men froze.

"Company. Single male."

That was the soldier posted furthest down the path from where the biker group had come… from where all their badly concealed trails led to the cabin.

Tom Chandler and Wolf Taylor had the cabin in sight, and saw Danny Green step out, his rifle probably with one of the newcomers, only his gun clasped in his hand. He stepped silently around the corner into the darkness.

Both men stayed hidden in the darkness, guns at the ready. The river gurgled gently, not masking the sounds of the night. The whisper of the light erratic breeze, the one or other sleepy bird sound.

Slowly, measuredly, even maybe a little sluggishly a figure appeared against the light backdrop of the rock. He was wearing a bulky short jacket that immediately took Tom Chandler back to the moment he had seen Tex Nolan through his field glasses. The man behind him then, with the short revolver in his hand, had been wearing this jacket, he was certain. The hood had been around his shoulders then, now it covered his head and was pulled deeply into his face. What must be a muscular frame could be guessed at, though the nondescript cargo pants betrayed comparatively thin legs. His hands were hidden inside the sleeves. Probably the gun, too. Close enough now to see his boots, Tom easily connected them to the prints in the mud at the… site.

He felt more than saw Taylor shiver beside him, and slowly, carefully put his hand on the other man's wrist, pushing down. The other's fingers cramped around his gun were icy. They needed to take him alive, if possible. Not that he would fault Taylor for shooting. Not that he did not itch to empty his gun into the guy's face himself.

Meanwhile, the stranger had lifted an arm to either knock on the door, or simply pull it open.

But Danny Green was behind him quick as a shadow, the barrel of his gun at the shorter man's head. A violent start went through the stranger.

"Hands up. Now."

Dirty fingers appeared hesitantly, lifting slowly.

"On the wood. Now!" Two of the other soldiers were closing in at Green's sign. Green quickly patted the man's pockets, down his legs. The captive moved, refusing compliance with a muffled sound.

Green exploded into motion. He slammed the edges of his hands against the shoulder joints of the shorter man, then followed with a quick and brutal grip of the other's weakened wrists, pulling his arms behind his back ruthlessly. A cable tie did the rest.

The captive staggered, but Green held him upright with a hard hand around his arm.

"Not a sound." He hissed when the prisoner made a move that might have been an effort to speak. Danny tilted his head toward the com at his shoulder. "Are we secure."

"All quiet here."

Danny glanced into the direction where he knew Taylor and the Admiral were watching and pulled the door to the cabin open. He pushed the man forward, a none too gentle kick to the back of his legs bringing him inside on his knees.

"Light."

Tom Chandler started toward the cabin at a run with Taylor beside him, the blond bear coming toward them to take their place securing the ravine.

The Australian was through the door first and hindered Chandler's view. The Admiral's fingers found the doorframe, grounding him. His glance fell on Nolan's face.

Where before it had been Tex' expression that almost undid his countenance, it was his face now that gave Tom an inkling of inexplicable hope. Tex Nolan looked alert and… confused.

An unexpected movement pulled his gaze back toward the newcomer. His muscles locked into place.

The captive was kneeling in the middle of the room, shivering.

The black-skinned woman stretched her bony fingers toward the fabric of the man's hood and pulled it off with a quick motion.

Like a living thing a heavy, dusty, frayed braid fell out and down over the dark jacket.

Large eyes blinked torturously into the bright torchlight. An expression of exhausted capitulation lay beneath lips tightly pressed together. The hair at the side of her head was matted with something dark and crusty.

"Oh my God."

Nobody knew who's expression it was. Tex and the soldier in the corner quickly clicked the mirror contraptions in place, changing their torches to ambient light.

The silence was absolute.

The kneeling woman took a long second to understand who she was looking at. "Tex?" She tried to get up, but the arms bound at her back would have had her keeling over, had not Wolfman jumped to and pulled her upright. Anger swung in his voice. "Nobody got a knife?" He was already cutting through the wire at her wrists. "Elf!" He turned her around somewhat roughly, trying to read her expression. "You all right?"

Tom Chandler finally found the strength to move, to relax his cramped muscles – if only because the groaning doorframe warned him of impending danger to the old building.

Alviarin gazed up at the Australian's bearded face in incomprehension. "Wolf?" She gripped his wrist in support, and turned dazedly, counting her wards.

She had not yet seen him, Tom realized, satisfied to stay hidden in the shadows for a moment longer. His hands were full of splinters when he finally dropped them to his side.

The young woman made a move to ask a question, but her stomach revolted. One hand raised to cover her mouth, she turned blindly and pushed past them out the door.

This time he stayed beside her, until she half-fell beside the water. Held her shoulders, gently pushed her hair out of the way. It was dry heaves that shook his woman, but they still took a while to subside.

Alvi reached out to take a sip of the cold water and straightened, sitting back on her heels. Without looking up she sighed: "Tom."

The bone-deep relief in her voice made him smile. "I got you."

She leaned toward him a little, one slender cold hand crept up to touch his fingers. "I dreamt about your hands. Warm and strong and secure."

Tom tightened his hold on her, leaning forward so he could lay his cheek on her hair – very, very gently, electrically aware of the too large spot of dried blood. She smelled of the forest, of resin and wood smoke, of sweat and sulfur. He could only repeat: "I got you."

But only for a moment. "You're freezing."

He pulled her upright gently, supporting the slender frame when she would have stumbled.

She balked half way and turned, pale face distraught, eyes far in the distance. "I killed him. I… he punched me, I fell and hit my head, but, I had the needle, the pin you gave me. It was in my fist. He bent low, pinning me and I…"

Tom gripped her shoulders hard. "You acted in self defense. Good for you, hear me? There was no way out of that fight. We saw the tracks."

"I couldn't go back."

She gazed up at him, their eyes meeting for the first time. His heart sang, even while it ached and raged for her, for what she had gone through. And she… he got to watch the emotions chasing each other over that expressive face, the clouded eyes, her mouth pulling downward, but moment by moment, she relaxed, her lips relaxed, her countenance turned. Until finally she reached up to lay a hand against his chest.

"Tom."

"Yeah." He pulled the hand upwards so he could warm it against his lips.

"I did it."

"You did."

She started. "Tex? Madison and Walther?"

"They're inside. Come."

She let him walk her to the moonshiner's cabin. At the door she hesitated. "Wait, that was Danny Green?"

The so named turned up from the dark corner he had chosen as his watcher's spot. "Indeed. Good to have you back, Elf. No hard feelings?"

To Tom's surprise, Alvi took an involuntary half step back, before she nodded at the blond man. "You thought I was him. No hard feelings."

Green exchanged a somewhat nonplussed glance with Chandler, but Alvi had pulled the door open.

"I can't, I can't do the cabin. I'm sorry."

One hand on her elbow, Tom Chandler hesitated. Alviarin had frozen one step inside the door, and her body language had her already fleeing outside again. What precious color was left in her face was draining. Tom glanced at the unfamiliar faces for explanation.

The large blond man squared his shoulders to catch his eye. "Chris, Sir. We were locked underground for eight hours a day." That explained… "She had a panic attack the day before we… left." Tom was hard pressed not to tighten his grip on Alvi's arm. "And…" Chris glanced at Alvi. Who twitched, one hand reaching for the doorframe. Her breath seemed to come faster.

Cold ran down Tom's back. He loosened his grip on the young woman's elbow. Right, change of plans, then.

"Your man patched up my ankle." The older man assured him. The couple looked tired. "We're comfortable. Look after her. She's been on her feet for… twenty-two hours."

As if to authenticate his words, the woman wavered.

Chandler exchanged a glance with Tex Nolan, who grimaced in frustration that he could not get up and help. "Here, take the blankets, Sir. It's getting warmer in here by the minute."

Tom nodded at the other man, and followed Alviarin outside. Electrically remembering her reticence earlier with Green, Chandler turned her toward him, shielding her from too inquisitive eyes. "Is Wolfman ok? We've got to look at your head and clear a few things."

Eyes hooded in the harsh moonlight, she nodded. "I'll manage."

"Sit." He gently pushed her down beside a stone. Wrapped her own thermoblankets around her body and shoulders.

It took him less than a heartbeat to beckon Wolfman Taylor and Danny Green. The latter was given the responsibility of keeping the camp safe.

While Wolfman knelt down in front of the young woman to carefully draw her story from her, the commodore himself applied himself to the head-wound, starting to clean the hair and scalp from the worst in the light of his and Taylor's torches.

"We're caught up from when you sent your four friends toward Tex through that tunnel-trail. Though maybe start with how you found Tex?"

Alviarin took her time answering, visibly trying to sort thoughts, timelines and reasoning. "I knew roughly where we were, and that we'd have to meet with the enemy soon. The road block would have to be hereabouts, on account of the ravine, and last I spoke with Tex, he corroborated that. So. I headed north. Alone I could climb the ravine up and down, change sides with ease. It was pure luck that had me watching Tex meet with… Burt on that outcrop. I don't know how much he told you, but there was not much of an exchange, and the shot rang out. I saw Tex fall."

Her voice had taken on a singsong monotone, hitching here and there over the pain. Her eyes closed now and then. "He was so lucky. Not only was the shot just a graze along his ribs, but the ravine there is mostly mud and bushes, and steep enough to soften his fall. I admit I lost it. I ran, ignoring the danger, and Burt. The rest Tex probably told you. I had to leave him as soon as he was awake and fed and safe to take care of my tracks, and make certain the others were safe." She drifted off with a grimace.

Wolf glanced at Tom Chandler and gently supplied: "You climbed from the cabin so he would follow you and be lead away from Tex. You thought to lose him again before you changed sides to meet your biker friends?"

Alvi nodded, to Tom's terse: "Hold still." He was sewing the gaping scalp wound closed.

"And that's what happened, isn't it? You sent those four onwards inside the ravine, on the trail you had scouted out before you found Tex. Yet you doubled back onto your own tracks so you would have to meet him."

The young woman opened her eyes into the distance, flinching almost disinterestedly when Tom Chandler pulled the needle through her scalp for the last time and bound off the knot. She started to speak, describing her encounter with this Burt character, her hands coming alive at long last.

Tom Chandler and Wolfman Taylor exchanged a dismayed glance. Neither could understand a word she was saying.

"Elf…" Wolf tried to intervene, but the young woman was lost to the memory.

Tom took a step and hunkered down in front of her, very gently grabbing her face in his hand, and turning it so the moon's light fell fully on her features. "Alviarin."

The expression passing over her face was indescribable. She halted, frowned, perplexed, and tilted her head.

"English, please." He managed a tight smile. "I know you're tired. But there might be bits and pieces we need to know now."

"What language was that?" Wolfman asked, dumbfounded at the exchange.

Still holding the young woman's gaze, Tom answered aside: "Chipewyan. Her mother tongue."

Alviarin's brows lifted, and she pulled her head free. "Sorry."

"Listen, what we found at the site… you did that? Why?"

"Oh." The young woman rallied, wringing her hands. "I could not be certain he was alone. If there were more of them, and they followed his tracks, or he had given them instructions via the radio…" she shook her head but grimaced, a hand to her forehead. "I did that. The shirt was ripped already, the coat, I-" she shuddered, "I took his jacket, his boots. And pushed him down the ravine. I had to keep Tex safe, and Walther and Madison…" Now she simply hurried on, all melody to her voice gone. "I traced back his steps until I found his car. He was alone as far as I could make out. Can't say anything to reinforcements coming. He has a military grade radio in there. I took out the battery. Thought it might come useful later. Sh – right: Here's a printout I found, probably the last message." She rummaged through a pocket in her pants. It was Morse code, but both men read it easily.

 _Woman first prerog, untouched. Kill the rest._

"Doesn't sound like reinforcements, Sir."

"How far is the car from the site?"

"Maybe three hours?"

"Jesus, Girl…" Wolfman stared at her. "I was certain I hadn't missed any outgoing tracks."

Alviarin managed a mirthless grin. "Yeah, I walked barefoot for a while there. I'm done for. Tom…" Her eyes turned tragic. "I lost it."

"What-?" He had to hold on to himself not to add an endearment. Were there tears in her eyes?

Tears of weariness, trailing down her cheeks like glossy pearls. "The pin you gave me. It saved my life. I held it… and then I did not. I could not – I did not – after… I did not think."

"Shh, I have it. Wolfman found it." He pulled it out of his breast pocket, unwrapped it from the tissue he had saved it in, and offered it to her.

"Oh." This time the smile was real. Her fingers closed around the wooden ornament.

"We also found this, though you might want to grind it down again." Wolfman produced the slender staff they had carried back.

Alviarin sniffed. Wiping a hand over her face in an endearingly childish motion, she chuckled. "Thank you."

"Right, Elf, we need rough directions to that car, then you can sleep." Tom was fighting the urge to touch the elfin face now it was alive again.

She supplied what she managed to drag up from shock-muddled memory, uncertainty in her voice.

"Enough, Alvi. Rest. I'll contact Andrea and Kat with what we have, and we'll take it from here."

The young woman was not ready to relax just yet. "Tex? Walther?"

"Will you let it go already? They're well taken care of."

"Tom…"

Wolfman stood unobtrusively and walked away a short distance. Tom let his head fall forward a little and grasped the woman's hands tightly.

"What I did… what you found…"

"Elf, you did what you thought was necessary. We could have been the enemy. Don't trouble yourself over that now. We got you back, that's all that counts. Sleep. Wolfman will watch over you, while I take care of things."

She smiled, eyes already closing. "Go do good work."

He reached out then, to touch her mottled skin, run his thumb over her eyebrow. "It was you that did good work. Sleep."

….

"Wolfman? Wake her every two hours."

"Head-wound. I remember."

….

"Admiral Chandler?"

"Aye?"

"Forgive the intrusion. Alan Deeks my name. SWAT Raleigh."

"Good to meet you, Officer Deeks. I'm from Norfolk myself."

"Glad to make your acquaintance. I thought to offer what information I can about the place we were held and the circumstances of our leaving. The situation might be a bit more precarious than we think."

"Please. Sit. I had hoped to speak to one of you."


End file.
